


Stars Over Gotham

by madaliz



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background - Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle, Background - Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Bat Invasions of Privacy, Bat Mind Games, Canon-Typical Violence, Kryptonian Style Journalism, Lots of Family Banter, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Other Surprise Background Relationships, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-25 02:59:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 56,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13825050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madaliz/pseuds/madaliz
Summary: Kon accepts a six month assignment from Perry White to write a piece on Gotham City, THE piece on Gotham City. As he delves deep into Gotham and its first family, Kon unwittingly finds himself right in the middle of a brewing storm. Everyone in Gotham has their own agenda. Kon wants to know all about it.





	1. Odyssey

**Author's Note:**

> The Super Family in this story will be based party on their appearances in American Alien, the Rebirth timeline, pre-new52 timeline, and Smallville. The Bat Family will be based on the same timelines, just a little bit of the new52 timeline, and what I desperately want them to become lol.
> 
> This is me writing what I want to read about mostly.

 

 

_The inside of an old telephone booth isn’t the worst place to die. It isn’t the best either, but he no longer has the luxury to be picky. The hole in his chest won’t stop bleeding and he can feel the shrapnel that made it moving inside him, inching forward little by little, a slow and steady march to his heart. He’s not sure if it’s just his imagination or his body’s final fuck you to him that he’s feeling every single second leading up to his death._

_He doesn’t even have the energy to lift his hand anymore. All he can do is stare at the green glow beneath his skin, his father’s only gift to him. It kept their enemies away, made him feel in control and powerful. Discovering it was one of the happiest days of his life. Now, he looks down at his hand with bitterness. What use is this now that he’s dying? What use was this in face of all those bombs and guns and manic cruelty?_

_He hears a loud bang from above, feels the booth rattle. In an instant, the right side of the tiny box is shrouded in black cloth. Whatever’s on top of the booth moves, making the rusted metal ceiling creak. It’s a person, he decides, and the cloth, a cloak or cape._

_He hears another loud sound, this time a sharp gust of wind and the crunch of gravel as someone stumbles into an abrupt halt in front of the booth. The translucent door only lets him see the person’s silhouette, but it’s enough for him to recognize who it is_ — _one of the enemies he’s been trying to keep away._

 _The ceiling above him creaks again and whoever's on it jumps off to stand next to the new arrival. The cape or cloak they’re wearing obscures the shape of their body_. _He can’t tell who it is._

_“Open it,” says the caped one. A man, by the sound of his voice._

_He can see the bob of the other man’s head before strong hands grab the sides of the booth’s door. There’s a loud crunch as his fingers easily dig in to the steel, an even louder clank as he successfully pries the top hinge loose._

_He needs to stop this. If he’s going to lose everything, he wants to at least die in peace, away from these assholes._

_He looks at his glowing hand again, and swallows. It would find some use after all._

 

 

 

**[Six Months Ago]**

 

 

**KON**

 

Sometimes, if Kon focuses enough, he can see the indents on the surface of the moon — all the little hills and mountains, craters and sudden cliff drops. The sight of the wide expanse of rock and dust is soothing, the mystery beyond them, exhilarating. He’d picked up the stargazing habit in high school and kept at it even after he had started living under the murky Metropolis sky. The best view is still the one from Smallville, on the clear cloudless nights on the Kent farm. He likes looking up knowing the stars are as distant to him as they are to humans. He likes the thought that everyone on earth is just a speck of dust in the universe. It's relaxing, reassuring.

Jon glides into the space beside him, suspended high above the earth's crust, their backs facing the wide open fields of the Kents’ farm.

He nudges Kon with an elbow “What are you looking at?” 

Kon's gaze flits to him for a moment, before turning back to the heavens “The moon mostly," he shrugs "craters and stuff.”

“Again?” Jon cranes his head forward, squinting “Think if I concentrate hard enough I can see Mars?”

“Ha,” Kon smiles “Not today you won’t.”

“Bummer,” Jon throws his legs up and rolls himself upright “Ma’s nearly done with dinner, she wants us to set the table.”

“Are Cl—” Kon clears his throat “Are mom and dad here yet?”

Jon rolls his eyes “Nope, they’re running late.”

Kon reaches out to ruffle Jon’s hair “Don’t look at me like that lil dude, it just takes some getting used to.”

“You always say that.” Jon crosses his arms and slowly starts floating back down to the earth.

“I’m not lying,” Kon follows Jon's snail paced descent “I really do just need some time, in my head, ‘dad’ has always been –” he cuts himself off before he can say it. He hates the taste of the name on his tongue now, can barely look at the billboard near his apartment displaying it in big block letters.

“Luthor?” Kon flinches “You’re just like dad, it’s like it physically hurts to hear that name now.”

“It kind of does,” Kon lands on their front porch, feet thudding lightly on its wooden surface.

Jon just nods. Kon’s sure he wants to say something, he always does. He appreciates that in this moment, he doesn’t.

“Well,” Jon says after a beat “Let’s set the table then, maybe a little bit of normal will clear our heads little-big brother,” he grins at him then enters the house and starts shouting for Ma.

Kon follows him inside and finds Ma setting down a plate of mashed potatoes next to the pile of steaks. He smiles at her and says “Smells amazing Ma,”

Ma just shakes her head as she smiles back, comes over to kiss Kon on the cheek “Just go help your brother set the rest of the table while I get the casserole from the oven.”

“Want me to help with that too? I wouldn’t even need oven mitts.”

“Just set the table dear,” she walks into the kitchen ahead of him, brushing off the offer.

Kon makes to follow her but is stopped at the kitchen entrance by Jon who shoves five plates into his arms.

“Set those down with the place mats, I’ll go back for the utensils,” 

Kon takes the stack of place mats Ma puts at the end of the table and places them carefully in front of their seats. He’s just put the last place mat down when Jon comes back with the casserole in his bare hands, Ma trails after him with an amused look and a bunch of utensils in her hands. Kon takes them from her and finishes setting the table.

Suddenly he hears the sound of an approaching car, an engine huffing and puffing, slowly and steadily struggling forward, it's parts creaking with the effort, not unlike the old rusty bike Kon rode to school throughout his 'teenage' years. The telltale sounds of Clark’s car. His eyes meet Jon’s.

“They’re nearly here Ma,” Jon says “we can hear dad’s crappy car.”

“Language dear,” she moves her hands in a shooing motion “you boys go greet them then while I check on the pie.”

Jon’s gone in a flash. Kon follows at a slower human pace, and when he gets to the porch Jon’s bouncing excitedly and Clark's car is within plain sight. Kon leans on the wall right inside the front door. He shoves his hands into his pockets and watches as the old powder blue Toyota approaches the farm.

They park it right next to Ma’s truck. Jon practically tackle hugs Clark once they get out of the car.

Lois goes to Kon and says  “C’mere Conner”, before giving him a bearhug so tight it would have probably hurt anyone who wasn’t part Kryptonian. She’s been doing this since even before the adoption, Kon thinks it’s part of her aggressive approach to get Kon to adore her.

Behind Lois, Kon can see Clark pressing a sloppy kiss onto Jon’s cheek. His stomach rolls at the sight, but he pretends to be distracted by Lois’ greeting.

When Jon jumps to get his own bearhug from Lois, Clark takes Kon into a one-armed hug. It’s awkward as hell, but Kon sags in relief. Clark pats him twice on the back before letting go, then grins at Kon and asks “Where’s Ma?”

Right on cue, Ma joins them in the foyer and gives her son and daughter-in-law a tight hug like she hadn’t seen them in years instead of the length of a week it actually was.

“What was so important that **_both_ ** of you would be late for dinner hmm?” Ma asks them, as she leads the way to the dinner table.

“Lois got a memo banning her from all of the Wayne parties.” Clark loosens his tie “She had me calling Wayne Enterprises for comments while she drafted an article about it herself.”

“Wow,” Jon plops down onto his seat “how’d you manage that mom?”

“Hard work dear, it’s always hard work,” Lois says, in a terrible parody of the upper-class Gotham drawl, behind her Clark is shaking his head “and I also asked Damian Wayne about his mother within hearing range of some of Gotham’s finest snobs.”

“You just had to agitate one of the more feral Waynes,” Kon tries to sound disappointed in her, but he’s grinning when he takes his seat across Jon.

“Feral,” Lois snorts “I like that, should have used it in the article.”

“Good Lord,” Clark laughs, he and Lois seat themselves together to Jon’s right while Ma sits next to Kon “Lois if you’d done that they probably would have banned you forever.”

Kon raises an eyebrow “So it wasn’t a permanent ban?”

Lois shrugs “It’s only for the next six months, though I’m sure young Damian would have wanted it to be forever. This is just Brucie placating his baby boy if you ask me.”

“Let’s say grace before we keep talking about the rich people, shall we?” Ma leads and everyone quiets down for a moment before bursting back into conversation.

Jon’s voice is the loudest “Does this mean Kon and I get to sneak into one of their parties again? Now that neither of you can I mean.”

“Jon,” Clark frowns, passing Ma the mashed potatoes “you’re not sneaking into any high society parties, period. Conner will probably have to though.”

“What?” Kon chokes on his steak while Jon shouts “Unfair!”

“I’m—” Kon starts “If you’re saying what I think you’re saying…” he bites his lip “Are you just pulling my leg or am I actually getting the story?”

“You’re getting the story,” Clark grins, his entire face lights up “Perry ordered it himself, something about you being the only person who’s ever successfully snuck into any part of Wayne Manor who isn’t also currently banned from going near Gotham.”

Kon shakes his head “That’s— You two didn’t push for it did you?”

“Relax flyboy,” Lois points her fork at him “Perry’s not the type who does nepotism, or who’d ever listen to **_anyone_ ** talk up their son.”

“Still I’m—I’m not sure I’m ready for something like this. A lot of people wanted this story, why me?”

“I’m sure it’s because they saw how talented you are dear,” Ma pats his hand “if anyone says otherwise you’re just going to have to show them what’s what with your work right?”

“Can I at least fill in for you with the Titans?” Jon quips, making everyone turn to look at him “I mean, Gotham’s a no-fly zone for us, just cause the Waynes know who dad is doesn’t mean they know you’re Superboy right? You can’t risk it.”

“I’m sure they know,” Kon crosses his arms “they’re detectives, if they know who Cl—dad is, it’s pretty easy to figure out the rest isn’t it?”

Jon harrumphs exaggeratedly, cheeks puffed up as he glares at Kon. None of them miss Clark’s frown or Lois’ hand patting his thigh under the table. He looks at his hands on his lap in silent apology, Ma squeezes his forearm before insisting he eat some of the casserole. It only makes him feel a little less guilty.

Lois clears her throat “Perry wants to know when you’ll be able to leave for Gotham. He wants you to go before the Martha Wayne Foundation Gala happens, the Planet’s getting a seat in it.”

Kon looks up “That’s in two weeks.”

“He wants you to cover all their events for the society page while you’re writing your big story, I think he’s making you audition to be the permanent Gotham correspondent.”

“ **_Permanent_ ** _!?”_ Kon squeaks, “As in I’ll be living there?”

“Personally, I’m against a permanent assignment too,” says Clark “It’s a big move, and Batman knows much more about us than we do about him, it could be dangerous — but I do think this temporary assignment would be very good for you.”

Kon worries his lip. He looks at Clark and Lois’ earnest faces and is tempted to just say yes without thinking.

“You don’t need to give an answer now, but I’m sure Perry’ll be badgering you about it tomorrow,” Lois smiles at him, it’s clearly meant to be a facsimile of Ma’s encouraging smiles “Sleep on it kid.”

“Ok,” Kon nods, frowning down at his food.

 

 

 

-o-o-o-o-

 

 

 

Sleeping arrangements at the Kent house are always a bit tricky. Kon’s old room is also Clark’s old room and it’s also Jon’s current room because everyone decided it was best they went through Kryptonian puberty under the care of someone experienced in dealing with it. Kon thinks it also makes Clark feel better if one of them’s with Ma. He also thinks this arrangement helps Lois feel less guilty about not being around her kids a lot of the time because of her job. Mostly, he keeps those opinions to himself. He’s pretty sure it’d hurt Lois if he said it out loud and he doesn’t want that.

He sets up the sofa bed in the living room for Clark and Lois. Jon helps him put some bed covers on it before they both say good night to the oldies and retire to Jon’s room where a pull out bed is waiting for Kon to pass out on. He takes off his shirt and pants right as they enter the room and rummages for his extra shirt, underwear and toothbrush in his backpack.

He points at the bathroom’s direction with a thumb, “Can I go first?”

“Sure,” Jon says, already pulling out his Nintendo 3DS from his bedside drawer.

Clad in only his boxers, Kon steps out to head for the bathroom, stopping by the dresser next to Ma’s room where he knows she keeps the towels. He knocks to make sure nobody’s inside before he walks in.

The mirror by the sink is a tiny one, just enough that Kon sees his entire face and neck. He washes his face vigorously with the herbal soap he’s pretty sure Lois gifted Ma last Christmas. After he’s done, he looks at his reflection and sighs, runs his fingers across his hairline. Bart’s been teasing him about how it’s receding, it’s made him a little paranoid. He wishes he’d inherited Clark’s curls instead.

After brushing his teeth, he steps into the shower and quickly soaps up and rinses his body, eager to just get this over with and recover some energy for tomorrow.

When he gets back to Jon’s room, he finds him shouting at his video game and hitting his bed with his legs.

“Your turn dude.” he says, stealing Jon’s attention.

“Oh right,” he snaps his 3DS shut and gets up. He starts rummaging his closet for pajamas. “You up to playing a little Mario Kart before sleeping?”

“Can’t, work tomorrow.”

“Sucks,” Jon cracks his knuckles, reaches for the top-most pile of clothes “you gonna say yes to the Gotham job? I’m serious about filling in for you with the Titans you know.”

“Of course you are,” Kon plops down onto the pull out bed “And I think I’ll say yes, it **_is_ ** a good opportunity, and I like writing about Gotham.”

Hugging his blue and white striped pajamas to his chest, Jon looks at Kon with an eyebrow raised “You sure you’re not just saying that cause mom and dad want you to take it?”

“I want the job Jon, I’m just worried I’ll miss everyone too much.”

“Please, we can get from New York to San Francisco in five seconds without breaking a sweat. You just need to take a bus out of Gotham, you’d still make Sunday dinners easily,” he crosses his arms, creasing his pajamas further “or is this about the Titans? You’ve been weird about them since—”

“— OK,” Kon sighs “I get it, I can see you all any time.”

Jon stares at him, looking unimpressed. He keeps eye contact with Kon for longer than he’s comfortable with. Kon turns away.

“You should take the job,” Jon says “you obviously need the change of pace.”

Without waiting for his reply, Jon steps out of the room. Kon heaves in a deep breath, and lets it out as he lies down.

 

 

 

-o-o-o-o-

 

 

 

A couple of years ago there was a think piece in Time magazine that did a comparative analysis of Metropolis and Gotham. Kon doesn’t remember who wrote it exactly, but what’s important is that it was someone who used to work for the Planet, a Metropolis native. Gothamites loathed it, viciously slammed the author’s critical views on the Waynes and Gotham’s core group of vigilantes. They called it the misunderstandings of an outsider. It doesn’t help that the rest of the world seems to have taken the piece as gospel truth.

In the article, Batman is this menacing character who has control over Gotham’s police and major crime families. The author goes on to ask “Who’s to say the Batman hasn’t killed already?” before detailing a bunch of vignettes on unsolved crimes in Gotham, boldly implying they may have something to do with the Batman. It was effective and powerful storytelling. And, despite what Kon thinks were clear logical infirmities, it spawned plenty more pieces not just on Gotham vigilantes, but on the concept of the Justice League, and on the life’s work of Superman who'd also started out as a vigilante.

Perry White has wanted someone in the Planet to write a better version of that article since the day it blew up. He’s gone through a slew of Gotham Correspondents only to find them ultimately unsatisfying, most of them quit after a run in with one of Gotham’s many rogues. Perry wants someone with the balls to survive Gotham and who will write a front page article, something that’s like the Time magazine one, but better. It needs to be something that will resurrect the Superman vs Batman debate in popular media, and an in-depth piece on Gotham that even Gothamites can’t intelligently debunk. Kon doesn’t think having such specific instructions for writing the article would make for good journalism, or if fulfilling those instructions is even all that possible. Not that he’d ever say that to Perry’s face.

When they walk into the bullpen that Monday at least three reporters are shouting into their cellphones while three others are furiously typing something down onto their laptops. In their effort to cover everything they’ve missed during the weekend, they’ve left the cups of their Starbucks orders on random surfaces of the room. Packets of cream and sugar still lay on their desks, some of them sitting next to a forgotten second or third cup of coffee. Stacks of paper border everyone’s work spaces, research materials and old articles everyone promises they’ll organize once they have time, failing to realize that they will never have time in this life. The aisles in between are clean only thanks to the cleaning staff’s efforts but even they’ve long given up on everything else.

Kon doesn’t have a desk here, he’s not at that level yet. Mostly he writes articles in the hope that they might publish it. He’s done about three major stories and lot of smaller ones. Technically he’s still more freelance than anything, but he’s got a temp contract with the Planet and his parents work here so he’s been able to come and go as he pleases. He rarely goes to this floor because he rarely needs to, but you have to go through it to get to Perry’s office all the way at the end of the floor. Normally Kon gets off on the second floor to get some coffee from the cafeteria before stepping out in search of the next headline. This time he gets out at the top floor with Lois and Clark. Clark gives him a hard pat on the back, pushing him forward to the direction of Perry’s office. He stumbles forward, when he regains his balance he looks back to see Clark and Lois giving him a thumbs up. _Well,_ he thinks, _better to get it over with_.

Perry tells him to come in on his first knock. He’s got his arms crossed when Kon enters the room. His face is set in a frown. Kon is a little (a lot) afraid of him. He’s never been good at dealing with no nonsense types of guys.

He clears his throat “You asked to see me sir?”

Perry eyes flit up and down, assessing the length of Kon’s body before looking him straight in the eyes.

“How’d you get into the Waynes’ homeless shelter?”

“Sir?”

“You heard me Kent, answer the question.”

Kon drags his teeth across his lower lip and lowers his head “I uh, I studied the blind spots of their security cameras. Once you know that you just gotta be patient and careful.”

“But then they caught you,”

It isn’t a question, but Kon nods in agreement “It was bound to happen, once I got to the homeless shelter there’d be witnesses, staff members definitely called up the main house when they saw me taking pictures. I clearly didn’t belong there. I just thought I’d be able to get out quick enough.” Perry doesn’t say anything, the awkward silence makes Kon feel the need to blurt out more of the story.

“There was a commotion, I knew I’d get kicked out then so I stuffed my memory card into my pocket, but I kept pretending to take pictures. When they caught me, they only took my camera, they didn’t think to search me cause I kept taking pictures of them even when they were trying to grab me. They probably thought everything was in there.”

“Then Tim Wayne got to you,” another non-question.

“Yeah,” Kon wipes his hands on his thighs and shrugs “and you know the rest, everyone does.”

Kon had written about it, getting manhandled out of the estate by Tim Wayne himself. Tim was sharper than their security personnel. He’d checked the camera for its memory card and then, finding it empty, searched Kon’s pockets and even confiscated Kon’s phone for good measure.

Then he’d grabbed Kon by the collar and told him to leave in a voice that reminded Kon more of Batman than Gotham Heights. Kon got his things back in a package a couple of days later with a note that said: _“I didn’t delete anything. Do what you want but don’t let me catch you sneaking into our private property again Mr.Kent. - TJW”_

When reached for comment, Tim Wayne had confirmed Kon’s story. That was Kon’s first big break.

“The public ate that article up, we rarely get anything actually juicy about the Waynes.” Perry points an index finger at him, Kon startles back “You’re crafty, desperate, and as obsessed with writing about Gotham as your parents are,” he crosses his arms again “and you know better than to ask questions that’ll get you a restraining order.”

“Well, uh, it wasn’t a restraining order,” he feels the need to say “but I definitely won’t badger Damian Wayne like, uh, mom did.”

“You better not get in trouble with the Batman either, we’ve had enough of that drama with Kent Sr.” he walks towards Kon, and holds his hand out “Give me your word that you’ll keep the Planet out of trouble, and the story’s yours. You’ll fly to Gotham in a couple of days.”

Kon looks at his hand, and gulps. The current offer is just for a temporary assignment. Nothing in this conversation indicated Perry is auditioning him to be the Planet’s Gotham Correspondent. Temporary isn’t so bad. This is a good career move. And like Jon said, a change of pace will be good for him.

Hoping that he won’t regret the decision, he shakes Perry’s hand.

“You have my word”.

 

 

 

-o-o-o-o-

 

 

 

He flies to Gotham that Wednesday; takes Tuesday off to pack and have his last meal with Ma, then, bright and early on Wednesday morning Clark drives him to the airport and sees him off with a ‘good luck’ and a pat on the shoulder. He gets to Gotham around lunch time. The Planet has a place rented for its Gotham Correspondents, a cheap studio apartment with it’s own bathroom and not much else. It’s dusty when he gets there, though thankfully not a mess. He cleans up as much as he can and replaces the bed covers the old correspondent left behind. He finishes by mid-afternoon and decides to take a nap before going out for dinner.

It’s only when he wakes up at nine pm when he realizes he didn’t set his alarm. Thankfully Gotham never sleeps, and he manages to find a cheap Italian place that’s still open near his building and that has a four star rating on Yelp. He eats an entire pizza on his own and gets about five refills of his red iced tea. Halfway through his meal the owner asks him if he’s enjoying his food. He gives him his best toothy grin, and the owner beams back and says “Wonderful! Welcome to Gotham!” Kon sat there wide-eyed and wondering what gave him away until he remembered he was wearing his Metropolis U jacket.

At eight am the next day, he’s passing time in a cafe before catching the free tour bus. The coffee’s an artisan thing that is as overpriced as it is terrible which is probably why there aren’t a lot of people around – just the way he likes it. He’s googling the must visit places in Gotham. He wants to get a feel of the image the city wants tourists to see before trying to go where only locals would. The tour bus he’s planning to get on passes all the famous Gotham sites including Wayne Enterprises and the outermost gates of the Wayne Family property. According to the tour bus company’s website, you can book a tour of Wayne Manor, its gardens and the Drake Home, but it's limited to a group of ten people at a time and happens only once a month. Tickets have to be reserved a month in advance. Kon guesses the Waynes must vet all their would be visitors. They’d have to since part of the tour includes afternoon tea at Wayne Manor during which at least one member of the family always makes an appearance. How typical of a rich family to make meeting them a special feature.

He wonders how they manage security between the Manor and their homeless shelter, when it’s separated only by gardens. It’s not hard to get from one building to the other. Kon should know, he’s done it before. The _Jack & Janet Drake Home For The Lost _ looks like just another old Victorian mansion from the outside. You can see it from the edge of the east wing of Wayne Manor surrounded by creepy animal shaped hedges rich people seem to like in this city. The property, as its name suggests, used to belong to the Drakes, Tim Wayne’s biological parents, who once upon a time held lavish parties that would rival any of Bruce Wayne’s. They had put up the house for sale when Drake Industries filed for bankruptcy, and by the time they had both died in separate but equally horrific murders the house had fallen into disrepair. Timothy Wayne was twelve years old. The Wikipedia article on the whole thing has an excellently researched timeline that Kon might have written himself a couple of years ago.

Kon wonders if he could get in again. He might have gotten kicked out last time but he didn’t get banned like Lois. He has the time for it. He’ll probably be here for months if this really is an audition. He checks when tickets will be available again and makes a note of it on his phone’s calendar, setting an alarm for it on the day before and on the day itself. As he’s setting them his alarm rings, earning him a frown from the few other customers in the cafe, time to leave. Kon pulls on his backpack backwards so the bag is on his chest and he hugs it close. He leaves a tip for the servers, then he’s off.

The tour bus is one of those double decker buses with a heater in the first floor and wi-fi. Kon skips up to the second floor and grins as the biting winter wind of Gotham hits his face. The first stop he wants to go to is Wayne Enterprises, but there’s a couple of stops at major hotels until then so for now, Kon enjoys the view. Gotham is a sleepy city during the day, once the morning rush dies down there aren’t many people strolling down the streets. The roads here are wider than in Metropolis and the buildings are older. Whoever built them had a soft spot for gargoyles and imposing pillars – like they were attempting to make everything feel like Notre Dame. Certainly most of the buildings look like they're meant to feel European, but Kon’s been to Europe, and Gotham’s architecture feels more like someone’s fever dream of old European cities than anything else.

Wayne Enterprises stands out more because of this. Kon can see it now in the distance, a hulking tower of steel and glass, built on top of and around the original renovated brick and mortar two floor office building from which the Wayne fortune sprung. Kon watched a documentary about the architects behind it years ago, how they’d fought tooth and nail to get the contract, and then, once they were set, had stayed up day and night thinking about how to make it tall enough that it’s one of the first things you see in the Gotham skyline, and yet, not too heavy that the building from the 1800s underneath it would collapse. They’d worked on the original office building first, fortifying it before surrounding it with the sturdy stylized steel and glass the tower is known for today. It’s a mismatch of modern and Victorian architecture, stubbornly put together so that anyone who stands before it can see not only the future of Gotham but it’s roots.

As they near it, he can hear the snap of phone cameras and even the narration of one person who seems to be vlogging his entire Gotham experience. That one makes Kon look, it’s a bright-eyed brunette who looks about his age, clearly not from Gotham or any of its neighboring sister cities. He had an energy and optimism about him that screamed outsider. He’s the kind of kid who’d get mugged in this city. Kon wonders if that’s how he’s looking at these buildings, if the others see the same wide-eyed wonder and naivety in him. Maybe if he gets mugged he’ll get to meet one of Batman’s brood of vigilantes. He had his fingers crossed.

The bus lurches to a stop in front of Wayne Enterprises, and nearly all the tourists get up from their seats. He follows the crowd down slowly, making sure he doesn’t move too fast. He steps off, and gazes up at the tower from just beyond the fountain leading to its entrance. He gets his camera from his bag, hangs it around his neck and starts taking pictures— lots of them, from every angle he can manage. If he’s a bit more enthusiastic than the other visitors, nobody seems to notice. Once he’s had his fill, he heads for the tower’s entrance. There’s a museum in the first floor detailing some of Wayne Enterprises’ history, from their beginnings as a construction joint venture to their current standing as a multinational corporation.

All of the history is interesting, but what Kon really wants to see in the museum is the family portrait they put up just last year. It’s an oil painting of Bruce Wayne and his five children, with their family butler Alfred Pennyworth and Wayne’s newest ward, Duke Thomas. It’ll be good to have a decent picture of it for his article. Kon figures it’ll also be helpful to see what sort of image of themselves the Waynes paid to get made.

He steps into the building and is greeted cheerily by the guards, and then by the receptionist who informs him admission to the museum is free this month because of the Martha Wayne Foundation’s fortieth anniversary.

“However,” she says “renting the audio tour of the museum will still cost an additional five dollars, would you like to avail of it sir? Proceeds all go to the Arts Fund of the Martha Wayne Foundation.”

 _The starving artists fund,_ Kon thinks, unable to help a small smile. The Arts Fund is mostly a scholarship fund for aspiring artists, with the word “artist” being interpreted as broadly as possible.

“Sure,” he says, pulling out his wallet “I’ll get one.”

The receptionist hands him something that looks like an iPod mini attached to headphones and tells him to press play once he’s standing on the red x on the right side of the room. He thanks her and searches for the red x, finding it quite easily as it stands out from the rest of the sparkling marble floor.

There’s quite a few people there who also opted for the audio tour, Kon waits till he’s able to stand a bit more to the front before putting on the headphones and pressing play. He was prepared to just half-heartedly listen to the narration of facts he probably already knew, but he feels his heart jump when the narrator starts talking. The deep raspy voice speaking into his ears in a steady even tone is unmistakably Tim Wayne.

Nobody else seems to have noticed, or if they do, it’s not as big a deal to them as it is to Kon. He’s probably overreacting, it probably really isn’t a big deal. It’s not surprising that one of the Waynes would narrate the tour, it even makes sense. He takes a deep breath and moves to the glass case to his right as Tim Wayne’s voice instructs him. It’s a diorama of nineteenth century Gotham City, the three bronze bridges connecting it to mainland USA are lit up to emphasize their importance to the story being narrated in his ear. Tim Wayne reads out the caption on the diorama, “The Gates of Gotham: built by Silas Wayne and Harold Elliot in 1812.”

As the voice in his ear reminds him, it was the product of a joint venture between the two friends, who go on to form a business partnership called ‘Wayne and Elliot Construction’ in the same year. He moves on to the next display, and then the next. Letting Tim Wayne’s voice guide him as he tells the story of Silas Wayne and Harold Elliot’s falling out, uneasy reconciliation, eventual amicable partnership dissolution and the rise of their respective corporations. It’s more candid a narration than Kon expected, no waxing poetic about Silas Wayne heroically clawing his way up society.

Forty minutes after the tour started, Kon finally gets to the family portrait. It’s then that Tim Wayne stops to introduce himself, even makes a joke about how it would be awkward at this point if he didn’t, as he’s one of the young men standing to Bruce Wayne’s right. And there he is, hand perched on top of the brown leather couch his father is sitting on, the classic Wayne frown on his face, gray eyes piercing into Kon’s soul. Whoever painted this had an intense fascination with the Wayne Family’s eyes.

Bruce Wayne’s sharp blue ones jump out at you, his gaze even more penetrating than Tim’s and mirrored almost exactly by his youngest son Damian. Richard Grayson’s the only one smiling in the portrait, the edges of his wide warm brown eyes wrinkled. Beside him to the right, with her hand on Bruce’s shoulder, is Cassandra. She kept her expression carefully blank for the portrait, though her dark brown eyes seem to be laughing. To Grayson’s left, with his arms crossed, creasing his well-pressed suit, is Jason Todd. He’s got scowl on his face, his blue eyes judging whoever’s looking like they’d personally offended him.

Behind Bruce, stands his newest ward, Duke Thomas. He’s markedly less relaxed than the Wayne children, his posture too stiff and formal, his hazel eyes betraying his nerves. On his shoulder, is a comforting hand belonging to Alfred Pennyworth, whose tired brown eyes broadcast what it’s probably like raising and helping raise three generations of Waynes.

The likeness of the portrait to its subjects is astounding, but the expressiveness of their eyes is really what makes it special. Kon’s glad he went to see it in person, he’s not sure any picture of it would do it justice.

Remembering what he came here for, Kon lifts his camera. He makes sure the flash is off, and then waits for the right moment , where nobody’s blocking his vantage point and he can take a clear picture of the entire painting.

In his headphones, Tim Wayne is talking about his family. His eldest brother, the policeman, the second eldest, a med student, his only sister, a dance student at the Gotham Arts School, and the youngest, still in high school but already a national fencing champion. He even talks about Duke studying Economics at Gotham university, but he doesn’t talk about himself, or their father, instead he begins talking about the artist of the painting who had apparently graduated from the Gotham Arts School on a Martha Wayne Foundation Scholarship last year, and who’d chosen to remain anonymous so that he could earn his fame on his own talent and not through the Wayne Family name.

The narration ends with a thank you to the listener for availing of the audio tour and donating to the Arts Fund. He’s then directed to return the device to the counter to his left. Kon removes his headphones slowly and walks towards the counter as instructed. As he’s returning the device, a thought suddenly hits him.

“Excuse me,”

The employee taking back his headphones beams at him.

“What can I do for you sir?”

Kon grins back “I uh, well I guess you guys get this question all the time but, uh, if Wayne Enterprises starts on the third floor, what’s on the second floor?”

“Oh, not from Gotham are you?” she chuckles “It used to be a function hall, but Mr. Wayne suggested we refurbish it into a Martha Wayne Foundation museum, their family’s penthouse on the last floor is going to be the new function hall.”

“Wow, I didn’t hear about that,” he’s reasonably sure nobody in the Planet wrote an article about it “Bruce Wayne did?”

She shakes her head “No, one of his sons, Tim.”

“Ah,” he cracks his knuckles and leans back “I see, thanks for humoring me.”

“No problem sir, Welcome to Gotham!”

He thanks her again, shoves his hand in his pocket and walks towards the exit at a leisurely pace. He should probably make a second trip here once the foundation museum’s done. He wonders if Tim Wayne will narrate the audio tour for that too. Maybe everyone in Gotham already knows the answer to that question. Kon’s glad he decided to get a tourist’s eye view of the place before anything else, this way he’s allowed to ask what Gothamites probably think are stupid questions.

He heads for the bus stop and waits for another free tour bus to come along. A few of the people he got off with are waiting with him, including the brunette vlogger who’s busy checking out the videos he took in the museum. Kon doesn’t realize he’s staring until the guy looks up and makes eye contact with him. Kon hastily looks away, holds up his camera so he can look at his shots of the painting again.

“Hey, are you Conner Kent?” he startles at the sound of his name and finds that the brunette is now standing in front of him.

“I am?” he cringes at how unsure he sounds of his own identity.

“Dude!” he punches Kon lightly on the shoulder “Don’t you remember me? We were in high school together.”

“Oh,” Kon hopes that sounded like a knowing ‘oh’, but knowing his luck...

“I guess it’s not surprising you don’t recognize me, you only ever talked to Lori back then. It’s Kyle, Kyle Sterling?”

“Oh right, I remember,” he does, thank God he does, “you were on the football team.”

“Didn’t know you were paying attention,” Kyle grins “yeah that was me, your average small town jock.”

“And now you’re,” Kon glances at his video camera “internet famous?”

“Meh, sort of,” Kyle shrugs “I’ve got some sponsors, but I can’t completely live off of it yet. I came here to try and do something big. Gotham’s got some awesome ghosts you know.”

“Ghosts?”

“Yeah, I’m kind of all about ghost hunting,” he laughs a little awkwardly and rubs the back of his neck “Uh, you here for work too?”

Kon quickly weighs the pros and cons of being truthful, but he figures there’s no real reason to lie “Yeah, doing a long assignment for the Planet, if it works out they might actually hire me.”

Kyle’s eyes widen, and Kon can clearly see him bite the inside of his cheek. Just as Kyle finally responds with a stilted “Cool,” a bus pulls up.

Kon makes an abortive step towards the bus, then turns back to Kyle and says “I’ll be seeing you then,”

He waves at him as he jogs up the steps of the tour bus. Kyle waves back, but he’s still biting the inside of his cheek, mouth skewed awkwardly into an expression Kon can’t read. Pretty weird as goodbyes go, but maybe that’s normal for Kyle. He makes a mental note to call Lori later and ask about it. She had more of a social life than Kon did in high school, not that that was saying much.

Kon shakes his head. _Let’s leave that for later_ , he thinks, as he pulls up the tour bus map on his phone. The next stop is City Hall, where the office of both the mayor and the district attorney is. Both of them are Bruce Wayne’s childhood friends with whom, if books and newspapers are to be believed, he maintains close relationships with. Kon wonders if that means they know who the Batman is, wonders if they approve of him and all the city’s vigilantes. It’d be great to get an interview with both of them, but he’s sure that isn’t possible today. Maybe he’ll go anyway to get a feel of the place and to try and get an appointment.

He exits from his web browser. It’s only ten am. Perfect. City Hall it is then. He’ll get some lunch after and then, who knows. He’s got time.

 

 

 

 

**TIM**

 

This was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission. Tonight, he was only supposed to watch the Falcones bring a new shipment in and fill in the blanks in his records of what he knows about their new protocol. He wasn’t supposed to be hiding behind a metal door, right calf bleeding, hoping the guy with the goddamn Bullpup doesn’t realize someone’s still alive in here. His fighting style has him in the air a lot, so his armor’s always been light. He can already hear Bruce’s lecture for this. He’s not so brazen as to go full-no bullet proof like Dick, but all he has is a classic bullet proof vest.

He’s holding the door knob, following the direction of the sea breeze blowing into the docks as he pushes and pulls it to and fro. It’s a stupid ass thing to do but it’s what’s kept him alive so far. The guy with the assault rifle hasn’t seemed to notice that a sixty pound door isn’t supposed to move like this. Since he was careless enough to get shot in the leg he’s not going to risk gritting his teeth and hoping the pain doesn’t give him away as he hangs from the corner of the room by the strength of his limbs alone. No, he’s just going to keep his breathing shallow, hide behind the door and wait for backup.

“Hey asshole!” he hears Jason shout outside “That a gun or are you just happy to see me?”

Tim resists the urge to roll his eyes and groan, presses himself against the corner more, pulls the door towards himself, careful not to make a single sound.

He hears the gunshots start. Pop after pop after pop accompanied by the shooter’s distressed scream. He can hear Jason laugh, and though the sound is muffled by everything else, Tim can tell it’s his Riddler impression. He presses his mouth into a thin line and hangs on to the door tighter.

Before long the shooter runs out of ammo and he hears the tell tale clicking of an empty gun. “No!” the shooter shouts, pulling the trigger over and over. Click, click, click.

“Oh buddy,” he hears Jason say, followed by a sound which he can only assume is Jason punching the assailant in the face. There’s a thud, the sound of a body falling to the ground. And then faint clicking sounds Tim’s familiar with, handcuffs.

Slowly he hears footsteps approach him, and as they do, he loosens his grip on the door until it’s no longer covering him, and he’s standing with his back pressed against the wall.

Jason stops at the entrance and mutters “Jesus,” he lingers there, taking in the sight Tim refuses to see again, and then strolls into the middle room and says “You here Red?”

“Unfortunately,” Tim says, making Jason’s head snap in his direction.

“Shit,” Jason walks towards him “whose blood is that?”

Tim looks down at himself for the first time since the shooting started. There’s blood splatter on his arms and chest, more than he thought there would be, but that’s not entirely surprising. He’s pretty sure none of it is his. The dark wet patch on his leg though, that’s all his.

He limps forward, Jason’s eyes flit down immediately. He looks back up at Tim’s face then touches his ear to turn on his communicator.

“Hey O, Red needs to get patched up, it’s pretty bad,” a pause, during which Tim resists the urge to object “yeah I **_thought_ ** it was weird he called for backup.”

This time Tim doesn’t resist rolling his eyes. He’s sure Jason can tell he’s doing it even with the cowl.

“Right thanks,” Jason grins “Robin’s on his way with the Batmobile.”

“Can he even reach the pedals?”

“Better than you can shorty,” he holds out an arm.

Tim looks at it, frowns “I can walk,” he says, gritting his teeth through the pain as he walks out of the room. He hears Jason sigh behind him.

“Do you know why this happened?”

“About that,” Jason steps forward to stand beside him “O says fifty thousand dollars got wired into this guy’s account a little after the gunshots started.”

“From where?”

“A dummy account owned by the Maronis, O probably sent you the data already.”

Tim nods “Did O find out why the Maronis paid this guy to ruin this particular shipment?”

“Well, seeing as the entire shipment was gone when I got here, we’ve got a few ideas.” Jason clicks his tongue “Though, I can’t wrap my head around why they’d bother. The Maronis aren’t in the drug business, even if they’re looking to get into it, they wouldn’t need to steal from the Falcones to get the stuff.”

Tim raises his hand to his mouth, but before he can bite his thumb, he remembers it’s covered in blood and lets it fall back down to his side. He lets out a breath, “You gonna work this case with me or should I ask Black Bat?”

“I’m in.” Jason answers surprisingly quick “This is too weird to pass up, but ask her anyway, feel like this won’t be a two person job,” he walks a forward towards the passed out shooter, and picks up his gun, starts inspecting it “this ain’t one of the Odessas’ guns.”

“Didn’t you destroy their entire stock last week?”

“Exactly,” Jason turns to him, still holding the rifle “plus they mostly had Russian made ones, Bullpups are manufactured in Singapore,” he hauls it over his shoulder “gonna take it back to O and get it checked.”

They both hear a loud screech, and turn to see the Batmobile heading straight for them, before lurching to a stop a few feet away. The black tint of the windows dissolves to reveal Damian frowning in the driver’s seat.

“Your ride’s here,”

“You aren’t coming with us?”

“Gonna round up all the weapons,” Jason shrugs “keep some for O to analyze, then I’ll throw the others into B’s trash compactor later.”

Tim can’t help but snort “It’s not a trash compactor.”

“Doesn’t matter what fancy name B calls it, it’s a trash compactor.”

Tim opens his mouth to retort but the sound of the Batmobile’s deep car horn snaps them out of their conversation.

Damian’s glaring at them like he’s ready to murder them both for wasting his time. Tim makes his way to the passenger’s seat door.

“Let’s talk more later,” he tells Jason before climbing in. As he’s putting on his seat belt, he sees Jason mock salute him.

Damian turns on the tint of the windows again, and starts backing up. They don’t talk until they’re well away from the docks. Tim can hear Damian mash his teeth together for the first five minutes of their ride before he finally says “Oracle will be informing father of what happened tonight after he finishes speaking with my mother,”

 _Is it that day already?_ Tim thinks, _no wonder Damian’s tense._

“Understood,” Tim says, Damian won’t want comforting words from him, the next best thing is to distract him “did Oracle tell you what happened?”

“The Maronis paid a man to kill Falcone thugs so they could steal their drug shipment,” Damian snorts “ridiculous.”

Tim steals a look at him before turning his gaze back forward “Ridiculous?”

“Tell me Drake, what do the Maronis deal in primarily?”

“Alcohol,” he answers almost automatically “they do a lot of hits too,” his eyes widen “are you saying it isn’t the Maronis who paid this guy?”

“I guarantee you, no group of assassins would pay an outsider to do something they think they could have done much better, and at a much lower price.”

“So are you saying O’s intel is wrong?”

“No, I just think it’s probably not what it looks like,” Damians eyes flit downwards to Tim’s leg. He presses the button on the dashboard that connects them to the manor.

“Yes, Master Damian?” says Alfred.

“Call Doctor Thompkins,”

“What!?” Tim can’t help but shout “It’s one gunshot wound.”

Alfred and Damian both ignore him.

“Alfred, don’t call her,” Tim pleads, just as Alfred asks “Status of the patient?”

“Fractured lower leg,” Damian says “gunshot wound in the same area, bullet likely still lodged in his bone, lacerations on his right cheek— in need of stitches, a probable concussion, likely has not slept in seventy two hours. Conclusion: Red Robin is currently a liability.”

“Excuse me!?”

“Noted, contacting Master Bruce and Doctor Thompkins immediately,”

“Alfred!” Tim shouts at the speaker, but Alfred’s already cancelled the call.

Tim takes several deep breaths and sinks into his seat, he clutches his thighs tightly, willing himself to calm down.

After a moment he bites out, “I can still work,”

Damian doesn’t grace him with a reply, just keeps driving until they’re in the tunnels that lead to the cave.

Tim doesn’t push more, knowing he’ll sound childish. He’s sure Leslie will clear him once she gets a good look at him. His leg’s not fractured.

Damian parks in Bruce’s space near the batcomputer. Neither Bruce nor Doctor Thompkins are there yet, but the person he wants to see least right now **_is_ **.

“Did you call **_Dick_ ** _?_ ”

“On the way to the docks, yes.” Damian unbuckles himself and climbs out of the car before Tim can reply.

Tim presses his hand to his forehead, and then flinches in surprise when it hurts. He sighs, resigning himself to his fate. As he’s unbuckling his seat a shadow falls over him and the door opens.

“Tim,” God, Dick’s using that ‘I’m very disappointed in you but also very worried’ voice he perfected after years of helping raise Damian. It’s the number one source of guilt for nearly everyone in their family.

“Dick,” he ignores Dick’s proffered hand as he climbs out of the car, firmly plants his left foot on the ground before bringing out his right.

Dick puts his arm around Tim’s waist and lifts him off the ground. Tim cant help the pained cry he lets out when Dick’s grip slides up to his ribs.

“It seems we must add bruised or broken ribs to his list of injuries,” Alfred sounds even more disappointed than Dick does. That stings more than all of Tim’s injuries put together.

“Hold your breath Tim,” and that’s all the warning Tim gets before Dick picks him up to carry him bridal style.

He hates that he can now feel the hurt enough that he can't squirm around in protest. He grits his teeth and lies still as Dick gently lays him on a bed.

Alfred brings the X-Ray. Tim closes his eyes as he scans his entire body.

“The bullet is indeed lodged in his right tibia and shattered part of his fibula,” Alfred announces “thankfully his ribs are only bruised. We were right to call Doctor Thompkins.”

Dick hovers over him “What happened Timmy?”

Tim avoids his eyes “I got careless.”

“He’s sleep deprived,” Damian helpfully provides. Tim bites the inside of his cheek, hard. “I suspect it’s due to the foundation gala preparations and the unusual increase in Falcone activity in Red Robin territory.”

“Tim,” again with the disappointed voice “you didn’t think to ask for help on either of those things?”

“I was handling it,”

Alfred and Damian both scoff almost simultaneously, but neither of them say anything. Dick looks at Tim like he’s hopeless, which is worse.

“Remember when Bruce did this and you punched him so hard he got a broken nose and a shiner for weeks?”

“That was different,”

“He’s right Grayson, father only stayed up for fifty hours, this is worse,”

Tim turns his head so fast his neck hurts a little, he ignores it “I’ve slept!”

“Ha!” Damian smile shows teeth “Fainting in your office doesn’t count.”

Tim bites the inside of his cheek again, tasting blood this time. He sends his best glare Damian’s way, and clenches the edges of the bed.

“This lack of a verbal response tells me my guess was correct.”

Dick sighs “You know we have to tell Bruce about all this right?”

Tim knows, his brain’s been doing it best to deny it. His eyes widen at the sound of another vehicle—the deep hum of the engine of one of the more heavily armored Batmobiles that Bruce likes to bring when he has to meet with one of the Al Ghuls.

He closes his eyes to prepare for what’s to come.

After he hears car doors open and close, Leslie Thompkins asks “What’s wrong with him?” to the room. The heavy thud of Bruce’s boots echoes in the background. He stops right by Tim’s bed and Tim gulps, even that's a little painful.

“The fracture is too severe for just a cast,” Leslie announces “I’ll have to perform surgery, but I suppose you all already knew that.”

“We’ll talk later.” Bruce says, tone so neutral it’s unreadable. It makes him almost glad to feel the prick of the needle as they pump anesthesia into him. He only has the energy for a slight nod of his head before his consciousness fades, and he’s out.

 

 

 

-o-o-o-o-

 

 

 

When he wakes up, Cass is beside him reading a Misty Copeland biography and chewing bubblegum. He’s barely opened his mouth to try and speak when her hand shoots up to the comm in her ear. It lets out a beep. Cass dog ears her book and smiles at Tim.

“Good morning silly brother,” she greets, smiling ear to ear.

Tim loves the sight so much he doesn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed she just told their entire family (and Bruce, most importantly Bruce) that he’s awake.

“Hey,” he says, trying to lift himself by his elbows.

Cass puts her hand on his chest and gently pushes him down. “No,” she says “Bruce is on his way.”

He looks at her, tries to plead with his eyes that she let him escape, but Cass only shakes her head.

The swishing sound of the elevator door makes Cass turn around and Tim hold his breath. Heavy footsteps make their way to him, their owner, completely silent.

“Hello Bruce,” says Cass, and there’s a pause for what Tim assumes is one of their big hugs. A greeting Bruce only reserves for special occasions and his every day interactions with Cassandra.

Bruce takes his seat where Cass had been, and leans forward towards Tim, watching him intently. He doesn’t look angry, Tim thinks, he doesn’t look all that disappointed either. It makes him nervous that he doesn’t know how Bruce is feeling, that his expression is one that’s foreign to him.

“Tim,” Bruce starts “I’m suspending you until the gala.”

Tim closes his eyes. _Ah,_ he thinks, _so he is angry then._

“I’m not angry, it’s just for the best,”

Tim looks at him, takes deep breaths. “Ok,” he says, voice croaking.

“You can’t do regular missions until your leg heals, Jason will take over the Falcone case, and Cassandra will take care of your territory,” he clears his throat “In the meantime, an interesting thing came up that I would like you to handle,” Bruce pauses, Tim’s one hundred percent sure it’s only for dramatic effect. This’ll either be a concession to placate Tim or a surprisingly big assignment. His gut tells him it’s the latter, though perhaps it’s just wishful thinking.

“The Daily Planet sent its representative for the gala, he’s here in Gotham now.”

Tim’s heart jumps at the phrase ‘The Daily Planet’ and hasn’t stopped thumping loudly in his chest since. He gulps.

Bruce is quiet for another moment, before saying “It’s the clone.”

Tim’s gut is celebrating its victory.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goal is to update once a month, hopefully I'm not too busy to do that. 
> 
> Damian is 18 and Jon is 16. Clark and Bruce and everyone around their age are in their 40s, Dick's in his early 30s, while everyone else is in their 20s. Alfred's age is a secret lol.
> 
> EDIT: Hello, for the sake of clarity since I got some questions: Clark's history (teenage years and pre-Superman years) in this universe is largely based on Superman: American Alien with a bit of the Smallville TV series in the mix. Clark met Bruce here the same way he did in American Alien, so they know each other's identities and have deduced everyone else's from there. Unlike the Super Family whose history here is heavily influenced by American Alien, the history of the Bat Family here only takes elements from American Alien's depiction of Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson. I will borrow a lot from pre-n52 sources and a little bit from n52 and Rebirth, but the BatFam's history will largely be of my own making. The Bats being isolationist follows my reading of American Alien's Bruce Wayne. This story is essentially what I think they'd be like if they had little to no interactions with the greater superhero community and if none of them died. I've also tried to make them a more coherent organization.
> 
> My characterization for Tim and Kon will be borrowing a lot from Geoff Johns' run on Teen Titans v3 and Chris Yost's run on Red Robin largely because of their ages in this story. They won't be exactly the same because of the differences in their histories but in general that's the canon I have in mind when I write the point of view characters of this story. For Kon's history, there will be some from Young Justice and his solo series but only in references to the past. I won't refer to Young Justice as much in developing their relationships because it does not fit with the universe. 
> 
> Anyway that's all, I don't want to accidentally give away plot info haha. I'm intentionally holding things back, so if anything doesnt make sense in this chapter, it probably (hopefully!) will later. 
> 
> THANK YOU ALL FOR READING AND COMMENTING, I will be busy with exams so I won't be able to reply to any more comments. I might avoid doing so till chapter 2 so I won't unintentionally just blurt everything out hahaha.


	2. Ace of Swords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the great responses to the previous chapter! I'm happy people are interested in reading this haha.
> 
> I made a few minor changes in the last chapter after some editing. The most significant one is that I changed the location of the Tim’s first scene from the last chapter from Gotham Harbor to Dixon Docks, I just wanted to make the area where it was happening more specific (i.e. which part of Gotham).

 

 

**KON**

 

Kon’s first thought when he checks his phone Monday morning is that Perry’s going to kill him. He wakes up to several emails from Google Alerts about Tim Wayne’s broken leg. Kon’s pretty sure Perry will get on his case for not being psychic enough to go to Wayne Enterprises first thing in the morning to see Tim Wayne and Lucius Fox arrive for work.

Several microphones are shoved towards Wayne’s face in the paparazzi pictures. He’s smiling in them as usual, although there’s a shy quality to them that isn’t so usual. It’s not the same wide toothy business smile people are used to seeing from him. He looks uncomfortable in most of them, a little bit annoyed in others.

Nothing in the articles say why his leg’s broken, at least, nothing definitive. It’s all “sources close to Wayne say” this and “an insider said” that. There’s a few comments about the bandages on his face and his paleness being proof of a car accident, but it's all conjecture. It’s all rumors without real basis, so the man himself probably hasn’t given the media any comments yet. Kon wonders if he should try to get one, or if Wayne Enterprises will be avoiding the press.

Figuring it’s his job to try anyway, he googles ‘number for Timothy Wayne’s office’ and when he doesn’t find it, decides to try the number for Wayne Enterprises’ Management Corporation instead. The line’s busy the first three times, but on his fourth try someone finally picks up.

“Good morning, Wayne Enterprises’ Management Corporation, to whom may I direct your call?”

“Yes, good morning, I was wondering if I could talk with the Managing Director.”

“The Executive Managing Director is currently in a meeting and not taking calls.”

“Oh, I wanted to speak with the other Managing Director, the uh, non-executive one,” God he hopes he doesn’t sound like an idiot “Is he in?”

“Certainly sir,” says the operator “may I know who is on the line?”

“Conner Kent, The Daily Planet. I’m calling about the Wayne Foundation Gala.”

“The Daily Planet,” the operator says, sounding wary now “I’m sorry sir, but Mr. Wayne has refused to speak with anyone from the media since he arrived this morning.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” says Kon “are you sure he wouldn’t make an exception? We’re not a tabloid.”

“I’m sorry sir, we were advised not to direct any calls from the media to him today.”

 _That’s very specific_ , Kon thinks. “Does that mean he’ll be accepting calls tomorrow?”

“That’s not within my knowledge sir.”

Her replies are getting more clipped, Kon can feel her gear up to hang up on him. _Time to muster up every single ounce of Kent politeness in me._

“I apologize if this is a hassle,” he says, sheepishly “But would it be possible to get his assistant’s number so I can try and set up an appointment? On a later date of course.”

A pause, one of the longest pauses of Kon’s short life, and then: “Certainly sir,”

He heaves a sigh of relief, and when he hears the faint sounds of typing, he quickly scrambles for a pen and his notepad.

The operator enunciates each number slowly, when she’s done, Kon repeats them and asks, “Did I get it right?”

“Yes, would that be all sir?”

“Yeah,” he taps his notepad with his pen “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

He runs his thumb across the numbers he’d scribbled down. He’ll try giving it a call tomorrow. He still has to figure out how to write an article out of basically nothing, but maybe he’ll just wait till he’s asked Wayne himself for a comment. Kon suspects he won’t get the truth though, and that no one will. If Tim Wayne has a broken leg, it’s probably because of his double life.

Kon types in the Gotham Gazette’s web address and checks the news items for the day. There are several stories on crimes that a vigilante or two allegedly averted over the weekend, but nothing too big that any of them might have gotten badly injured. Then again, it’s possible the Gazette was just asked not to publish anything yet because of the police investigation.

He opens his bookmarked subreddit on Gotham Crime to see what people are talking about there. There’s multiple new comments about a shoot-out at Dixon Docks, there’s even a blurry picture of the Batmobile leaving from that direction and a picture of some police cars headed for the docks posted by someone who claims to live nearby. It could be made up, but it’s worth looking into.

He takes a quick shower and pulls on a plain grey sweater and some jeans. Figuring the docks might still be full of police, he decides to wear a black hoodie and a navy-blue cap. He pulls out one of his plain browns scarves to pull up over his face later. His glasses disguise might work on everyone else in the world but there are people in Gotham who will recognize him instantly. If there’s too many people around, Kon’s just going to have to use his ears. Hopefully since it’s daytime everyone will be at work and there won’t be anyone to witness Kon snooping.

He Googles the best way to get there on public transport, and decides to forgo his back pack, stuffing only his wallet and cellphone into his pocket. He empties his wallet of his IDs and credit cards and stuffs them into his drawer. Then he realizes that’s a stupid idea especially in this neighborhood and puts his IDs and credit cards into his suitcase along with his laptop, and locks them in.

He doesn’t have a lot of hard cash on him, but it’s enough to get him to the docks and back. There might even be enough for a hotdog if he walks part of the way.

Kon jogs to nearest bus stop and rides the bus till he gets to the Vauxhall Opera Shell, the nearest tourist landmark to the docks. He takes a few pictures of the building with his phone before beginning his trek. He pulls on his hoodie when the stream of people begins to thin, focuses his ears to hear all human voices in range, doing his best to drown out all the other sounds.

There’s a mother talking to her baby, someone snoring with their television open, an old woman talking on the phone, and then, as he nears the docks, a middle-aged man’s voice becomes more pronounced. As Kon gets nearer he can hear that he’s in deep conversation with two other people, another man, younger sounding, and a woman with a deep voice.

Kon can’t tell yet if they’re police or not, he’s still too far to focus on what they’re saying. He ducks into an alley, between two buildings. He looks for security cameras and listens for other people’s heartbeats before wrapping his scarf around his nose and mouth and tying it tightly around his head and neck. It’s a little uncomfortable, but it’s better than his face getting seen by someone, or worse, showing up on a security camera. He zips his hoodie all the way up and tucks the scarf inside.

After double-checking that there aren’t any security cameras or witnesses around, he scales the wall -- slowly, like he’s having difficulty with it. He jumps from that building’s roof to the next, consciously imitating how he thinks a normal person would do it. Once the docks are within sight, he sits on a rooftop and pulls out his phone, opens the notepad app and readies his thumbs over the keypads. He concentrates on the voices again, doing his best to single them out from every other sound.

“Look Commissioner, I’m just saying I don’t trust it,” it’s the younger man talking. Kon inches forward to get a better look of the man he now knows to be Commissioner Gordon. He sees a middle aged man in a trench coat, sporting wire rimed glasses and a well kept mustache. The Commissioner's got drooping wrinkles beneath his eyes making him look tired, both of the conversation and in general.

“Those vigilantes probably took all those drugs and guns for themselves," the young man continues "the Maronis wouldn’t do this, it doesn’t fit their M.O.," shaking a fist he adds "Mark my words we’ll be seeing the Batman shooting at people within the week.”

“Do you really believe what you’re saying Cal? After all you’ve seen?” the woman asks incredulously “The Red Hood destroyed a large arms shipment just last week, that’s what they do to all the guns, destroy them. Hell, if he had it his way the Batman would take all **_our_ ** guns too.”

Well that's news to Kon. Batman’s trying to get rid of all of Gotham’s guns. He's reasonably sure it's never been a major news item, or else he'd have known about it. If the police have noticed though, then Kon’s bound to find something on it on the internet. Forum posts, conspiracy theorists. He decides to check it out later.

“It’s only a matter of time isn’t it?” says Cal, sounding as if the woman had just proved his point “He’s just trying to take over Gotham City, if no one else has guns, we’re all at his mercy!” Kon can see him waving his arms around.

“Jesus Christ Langston,” the Commissioner sighs “this is no time for your goddamn conspiracy theories, fifteen people died here last night,”

“And the Red Hood made off with all the possible murder weapons! Again! Ain’t that even a little bit suspicious?”

“Are you planning to arrest him then?” the woman’s tone is so sarcastic Kon knows she’s rolling her eyes even with her back turned to him “Ask the judge for a warrant? How do you think that’ll go?”

“That’s why I keep telling you all it’s time we investigate who these people are!”

The woman and Commissioner Gordon turn to each other to share a look. Kon still can’t see the woman’s face, but he does see Gordon’s resigned frown.

Turning back to Langston the commissioner says, “Fine, you can look into it, but you’ll take Montoya with you.”

Officer Langston beams “Count on me sir!”

Gordon shakes his head “Sure. Now get out of here, both of you, I think we’ve got all we can get from here anyway.”

Langston and Montoya (Kon assumes) both salute him. Langston marches out of the cordoned area with a skip in his step.

Montoya doesn't leave right away, leans close to the Commissioner and whispers “You sure about this sir? Won’t the Batman--”

“I’ll handle it,” he pats her on the shoulder “Keep Langston out of trouble.”

She looks at him for a moment, and then nods and walks over to the police car Langston is sitting in.

Kon can hear them drive away, but his eyes are trained at Gordon who stands still and stares down at the docks riddled with reddish brown stains. It takes a second for Kon to realize what they are.

He was paying too much attention to the conversation to notice it at first, but now that Gordon’s the only one left in the scene, it’s the only thing he **_can_ ** notice.

His hand goes up to cover his mouth. Blood isn’t new to him, it comes with **_both_ ** his jobs. He’s seen his share of gruesome scenes, has been in a fair number of them too. But he’ll never get used to it.

He waits for Gordon to leave before getting closer look at the scene. Not that it’s much to look at, nearly everything’s been cleared out. The docks are closed for the day probably because of the investigation, there’s no one around. There are a few unmanned boats but that’s pretty much it. Kon wonders where they redirected the traffic, they can’t have stopped it altogether. He makes a final note to look into that later, before saving his notes into his email drafts.

Suddenly he hears the roar of machinery coming from the right of the docks. Kon focuses his eyes in that area, looks through all the buildings to see what’s making the noise. It’s a large vehicle that looks like a truck. Large brushes are on its front, spinning and slowly being doused with a sickly yellow substance. Kon looks for a company name and finds the Wayne Tech logo on its side.

Kon briskly brings up his camera app and gets as near as he can, taking the best pictures of the scene his phone can handle. In his hurry, many come out blurry. But getting a few good ones is more than fine, he continues to take pictures as what he's assumed is a street cleaning machine comes into the frame, making sure that at the very least the shape of Wayne Tech’s logo shows up clearly.

Satisfied, Kon quietly turns around and runs for the alley he climbed up from. He forgets, at first, to jump like a normal human being and has to use his TTK to cushion his fall so he doesn’t destroy the next roof.

He definitely got a scoop, he thinks, but he probably shouldn’t publish it so hastily. This needs more research, and he probably needs to check if making it public will jeopardize the police investigation.

He wonders if the shoot out is why Tim Wayne’s injured. The police had mentioned the Red Hood and not Red Robin, but Kon knows they’ve never really been all that aware of the vigilantes’ exact movements. It’s probably why they’re divided on what to think of them. Officer Langston certainly seems to find them dangerous and suspicious, but Officer Montoya almost sounded like she admired them. Kon kind of wants to interview them both now, get the different perspectives from the Gotham PD.

Slowly, he scales his way down the building he’d climbed earlier until he’s in the deserted alley again. He asses the area one more time before removing his scarf and stuffing it back into his hoodie pocket. He pulls down the bill of his cap and adjusts his hood so that it casts shadows over his face.

He takes a deep breath, and steps out of the alley, back into the streets.

 

 

 

 

 

**TIM**

 

Jason arrives at his office at around noon time bearing pizza. It’s from one of Tim’s favorite Italian places, topped with three kinds of cheese and a spinach paste he can’t get enough of. It’s what Tim always buys for himself on special occasions, and it’s what his siblings buy for him when they know they’re about to have a conversation with him that he’s not going to like.

Dick usually pretends like he’s just there to bring Tim one of his favorite meals, but Jason was never one for bullshit like that so he strides into Tim’s office like he owns the place and dangles the pizza in front of his face.

Tim pushes his laptop aside to make room for it on his desk. Jason gently drops the box in the emptied space. As Tim opens it to inspect the pizza, Jason sits himself down onto the chair in front of him, stretching and getting comfortable. He watches as Tim takes a piece and savors the mix of tastes.

“So I take it O’s sent you my files,” Tim says, after finishing his first slice. He picks up a second, “And you’re here to ask some questions?”

“Basically,” Jason puts his hand in the front pocket of his leather jacket, but stills before he can pull out what Tim guesses is a cigarette. He glares up at the smoke alarm before continuing, “this is a bigger case than you’ve led us all to believe Timmy.”

“I didn’t lead you to believe anything, Bruce and O already had all my data,” he rolls the slice in his hand “I just had a bad week,”

“Well it was definitely that,” Jason lets out a breath “why’d you stay up for that long anyway?”

“The things I had to do just piled up, pure coincidence, and the rest of you had stuff going on,” Tim takes a bite, and shrugs “bad week.”

Jason glares at him for a long moment. Tim knows he hates the fact that he can’t deny everyone was busy-- with midterms or work or their own cases-- everyone had a thing. No one bothered Bruce about stuff that happened in their territories either, they’re all stubborn assholes like that.

“Fine,” Jason leans towards him, “let’s leave it at that, and talk about this case. Assume I haven’t read your files, and tell me in your own words what you think’s been happening.”

Tim takes a moment to chew and swallow what he’s eating. He takes in his brother's incensed expression. Jason's in all likelihood, fuming on the inside about how he couldn’t argue against what he thinks are just Tim’s excuses. His eyebrows are furrowed, and the edges of his lips twitch, desperate for distraction. But despite that, he’s focused. There’s a hard look in his eyes that shows he’s ready to take in and commit to memory everything he hears.

He looks away from Jason to look for the pack of tissues in his drawers, using his cleaner hand to open them one by one. He wipes the grease off before rolling his chair to his mini-fridge to grab a bottle of water. He can feel Jason watch his every move. His gaze follows him until he slides back in place. He has a drink of water before he speaks.

“About a year ago,” he starts “The Falcones got themselves some fresh blood. They’ve been down on new recruits for a while now, but they’ve still got familial ties to Chicago’s Viti family. One of the Roman’s grandsons, Johnny Viti, is head of the family now, so they asked a favor of him, and they sent a handful of Johnny’s trusted soldiers to Gotham to help with the Falcones’ operations,”

“Why do they need so many hands?”

“Well that’s why I was so interested in gathering new data, I didn’t find out about the new guys until six months after they’d arrived, they’d hidden it pretty well, but I overheard a couple of their guys talking about ‘Johnny’ and ‘Bert’ and how they’re ‘getting on better these days’, so I had to make sure I wasn’t just jumping to conclusions. Unfortunately, my gut feeling was right, and it turned out that Johnny Viti and Alberto Falcone are working together again. They didn’t talk about why, probably because everyone in their group already knows why. I felt it might be important to find out.”

“So you watched them at the docks,”

Tim nods “Once, right after I found out, I didn’t get anything from it, I didn’t know what I was looking for. So, I decide to gather more intel first,”

Jason snorts “You Alvin Draper-ed up,” he leans back on his chair “God, I think I actually remember that, was this when you came to dinner with your fake shaved head still on and Alfred looked like he was about to explode for the two seconds he thought it was real?”

“Ha!” Tim smiles at the memory “Yeah, it was that. I bugged a bunch of their restaurants while posing as a customer.” It’s a shame, Tim thinks, that those places are crime fronts, because in all the places he went to, the food was consistently amazing “I used some of Babs’ new toys so they wouldn’t be able to see or detect any of them. Worked perfectly, and I overheard them talking about a bunch of shipments, the usual drugs for two small time cartels in my territory, guns for the Odessas, and a bunch of other stuff for other territories, even overheard them talking logistics on getting stuff to Gotham Heights.”

“And that’s where all your amazing tips kept coming from.”

“Exactly, so like I said earlier, I didn’t lead any of you to believe anything, I was giving you the data,”

Jason rolls his eyes, “So they’re doing a lot of shipments, why?”

“To get more connections, I thought,” Tim shrugs “to gain more power again,”

“Which makes sense, they all want that, it’s why I keep having to destroy the Odessas’ guns,”

“The Falcones are trying to make everyone need them, to make friendly until they have all of Gotham in a choke-hold again,” Tim sighs “or at least, that’s my theory.”

“It’s a good one, and gives the Maronis motive for what happened the other day actually, they’re not gonna like a Falcone trying to be a the big boss again,”

“Have you heard what Damian thinks about that?”

Jason eyebrows shoot up “No,”

“Well, the Maronis do hits right? So Damian doesn’t think they’d pay an outsider to do a hit.”

“Huh,” Jason’s gaze travels up, like he's mentally mapping the implications of that on Tim's ceiling. After a moment, he looks at Tim again “And what do you think about that?”

“I think Damian’s got a point,” Tim shrugs “and that someone’s trying to create tension between the Falcones and the Maronis.”

“Someone’s making a gang war,” Jason clenches his fists “I’m gonna find those shitheads and show them what’s what.”

“Well that’s great and all, but I hadn’t managed to figure out why they needed so many people, or why they’re working with the Viti. Sure they’ve got an increase in shipments, but they could have handled it.”

“It just means the Viti want in on whatever they’re going to do,” Jason frowns “But now that you mention it why would the Viti give a fuck about having control over Gotham?”

“Exactly, I think we’re missing a huge chunk of data,” Tim picks up a third slice of his pizza “And that’s what you have to follow up on,” he says, before chomping down.

Jason groans “I want you to know, that I’m holding in the urge to bitch about this real hard.”

“Ha,” Tim grins  “you’re better at these long term things than both Dick and Damian though,”

“Thanks,” Jason says monotonously “that means a lot.”

Tim smiles and shakes his head. He takes another bite of his pizza.

“I’ll be consulting with Cass for the Maronis,” Jason says, “and I’m getting Steph’s help too so I don’t stretch myself thin, unlike some people,”

Tim raises one eyebrow “You had midterms **_and_ ** that gun shipment bust,”

“And you could have called Dickie,” he crosses his arms “But you didn’t, because you’re still mad at him,”

Tim glares at him, “I have no idea what you’re talking about,”

Jason stands up and stretches his arms “Whatever you say Timbo,” he winks “I gotta head out, good luck with SB by the way, don’t get too distracted by his ass.”

Tim purses his lips. Jason leaves the room, laughing at him.

  


 

 

**KON**

 

Kon used to hate research-- it’s the most boring part of being an investigative reporter. He hated it in high school and he hated it in college, but once he got his first job at a real newspaper he learned it could be pretty fulfilling. When it’s something you want to learn about, time tends to fly fast and before you know it, you’re cramming before a deadline.

It helps to give yourself a schedule, but Kon’s not about that and he’s always thought it’s too much unnecessary pressure. He’s always done better by keeping to his own pace.

What he does need is a point of focus.

There’s too much to write about in Gotham. As the Planet’s correspondent, it’ll be his job to pick and chose what’s relevant. And for the article Perry White assigned to him, he has to write about something that will capture everyone’s imaginations.

For now, he needs to follow up on all the info he’s gathered in the past week. He boots up his laptop and starts researching the most interesting bit he’s picked up, vigilantes taking guns. After a bit of google-fu, he collects a decent number of news articles and forum discussions about every major gun shipment to Gotham that a vigilante allegedly ruined. There’s a lot more than he thought there would be.

Kon can see why someone in the police, who sees these numbers, would assume the vigilantes are taking guns off the streets. Kon makes note of the reporters who wrote the articles, thinking of trying to contact them later. Their work’s mostly been written off as conspiracy theories, but he’d like to know their sources anyway. Especially because the more he reads, the more his gut is telling him there’s a big story here.

But he needs to be careful. Lois always tells him the ones your “reporter gut” pulls you to are often the most dangerous ones. Investigative Reporters are attracted to danger (“That’s why I married Clark,” Lois would say, laughingly).

If anyone gets wind that he’s looking into this, he might get a surprise visit from one of the vigilantes.

 _Although,_ Kon thinks, _that might not be so bad._

He’d really like to ask them a lot of questions. Granted, they probably won't be answered, but Kon's curious. He usually brushes off a lot of Gotham forum threads because it’s a city that invites convoluted falsehoods, but being here, and hearing what people are talking about in the streets, Kon’s not sure if all the ridiculous stories are really just stories. Somewhere here there’s a truth. It’s his job to find it, and eventually, he hopes, write about it. In the meantime, parsing the onslaught of information is his challenge.

If the info he’s gathered so far is to be believed, the Batman tends to focus on the big crime families’ weapons. There are, however, incidents of mysteriously ruined arms shipments to the police that many attribute to either Batman or another Gotham vigilante. There’s a lot of mention of Batman’s history of attacking cops to support these theories. There's also huge debates about what side Batman's on since he's attacked both cops and criminals and protected both cops and criminals. 

Kon thinks the answers pretty simple, he’s on Gotham’s side, and he’ll do whatever it takes for the city, fight whoever he has to fight.

Kon wonders what they’re really doing with those guns. Is Officer Langston right, and they’re secretly trying to take over Gotham? Or is Officer Montoya right, and they’re just destroying everything? He can’t get that sort of information from the internet obviously, so Kon knows he’s going to have to start planning where to start asking around.

He gets up to get a bottle of water. As he’s walking back to his little desk he spots his notepad on his bedside table and remembers he was planning to call Tim Wayne’s assistant today.

He grabs his phone and dials the number that was given to him. It rings only once before someone picks up.

“Timothy Wayne’s Office,” she says. She sounds like she’s around Ma’s age, and her voice is just as warm and welcoming.

“Yes, hello,” Kon clears his throat, “I’m Conner Kent from the Daily Planet, I was wondering if I could set an appointment with Mr. Wayne to interview him about the upcoming gala.”

“Would you hold one moment please?”

She doesn’t wait for him to say yes before she puts him on hold. Classical piano is playing on the line, possibly, Kon thinks, in a effort to bore reporters until they give up. After a couple of minutes Kon yawns and slumps down to sit on his bed. He’s about to yawn again when the classical music cuts.

“Mr. Wayne can meet you for dinner tomorrow, would that be convenient?”

“Yes!” Kon exclaims, probably too loudly “It would absolutely be convenient yes,”

“Wonderful,” she says “please bring a valid ID for security, Mr. Wayne will expect you at Wayne Enterprises at seven pm. Would that be all Mr. Kent?”

“Yes, thank you very much miss…?”

Ignoring the implied question, she quickly says “Well, then, good day Mr. Kent,” and then hangs up.

Kon looks at his phone and frowns. He doesn’t know how someone could manage to be both so welcoming and closed off. He supposes that’s the Wayne brand, and even their assistants picked up on it. At least, he thinks, he could ask Tim Wayne about her tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

_Shit, so that’s really happening._

He falls backwards to lay on his bed, letting the reality of that sink in.

He’s meeting with Tim Wayne. For dinner.

It’s not strange, he’s from the Planet. One of the Waynes always agree to an interview for the Planet and the Gotham Gazette before big events. Kon has to remind himself he’s not special.

Except, he knows that he is a bit special. He’s Superboy, Tim Wayne knows this, and he knows that he’s Red Robin. They’re both going to have to pretend to be clueless, but it’ll be this big specter hanging over the two of them when they meet.

Kon shouldn’t be freaking out over this, he’s the Gotham Correspondent, talking to Tim Wayne is literally his job. This isn’t a big deal when you’re a reporter working in Gotham, especially if you’re from a paper like the Planet. Add to that the fact that Kon's met him already. Kon shouldn’t be acting like he’s going to a meet and greet of his favorite celebrity.

He startles when he hears a crunching sound, and he feels moisture dripping down his hand. He’s crushed his water bottle. Great.

He gets to the sink before any more of it drips onto his floor and he watches as his precious drinking water disappears into the drain.

He sighs, _Get it together Kon._

 

 

 

 

**TIM**

 

“Sorry, can you repeat that last one?”

Claudia’s eyes widen at his request, before her expression morphs into one of concern. She looks likes she wants to put her hand on Tim's forehead and check his temperature. She used to be Lucius’ assistant so she’s known Tim since he was still a gangly middle schooler, and she mothers him every chance she gets.

“Timothy,” there were never an ‘sirs’ or nicknames with Claudia “are you sure you should be working under all that pain medication?”

Tim rubs his temples “I can still think clearly, so I’m fine,” he sighs “thank you for worrying, but can you just, repeat that again?”

She tuts and shakes her head, but repeats herself anyway “You’re scheduled to meet a Conner Kent from the Daily Planet tomorrow at dinner.”

So he hadn’t misheard, “And on the same day as my Gazette interview?”

Claudia raises an eyebrow “I assumed you preferred to just rip off the bandage.”

Well, he can’t deny that.

“You’re right,” he says “I do prefer that. Shall I show him the penthouse you think?”

“If that’s your plan, I recommend you give Ms. Vale the same sneak peak at lunch,”

Tim wrinkles his nose “But she’ll snoop.”

“She’s a reporter,” Claudia scoffs “I would say snooping is in her job description. I would imagine Mr. Kent is much the same, if he’s anything like his mother.”

“Looked him up did you?” Tim grins.

“It’s my job,” she sets down the a copy of his schedule in front of him “and I should get back to it, if you need me I’ll be right outside for the next hour.”

“You can go home now you know, I won’t mind.”

“I appreciate it dear,” she says, in a sing-song voice that said she was not going to take him up on the offer.

Once she’s out of the room, he sighs and takes a good look at the schedule she’s handed him. He’s set to meet Conner Kent in the lobby at seven pm tomorrow night, and from there they’re taking a limo to the Parmigiano where a private room’s been reserved for them. Claudia knows exactly how to cater to his preferences. For Vicki Vale she always gets a reservation somewhere that serves food fast and clears tables even faster; for Planet reporters, she gets reservations where meals are cooked slow and where the food is so good Tim forgets his stress.

He’s been doing these sort of interviews more and more since he took an official position in Wayne Enterprises. He’s gotten used to Vale but the Planet reporters are a mixed bag of characters. Usually they’re either trying to show they’re smarter and better than him or they’re so starstruck they have trouble articulating and end up apologizing to him for half of the interview. He wonders which one Conner Kent will be. He wonders if it’ll be the real him.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. A text from Steph to join her, Cass and Duke at Sliders for burgers. There’s a selfie of them chowing down on their burgers and fries and a list of their vegetarian options sent along with it. Tim grins down at his phone.

“Will I get mobbed by paps?” he texts back.

Steph is quick to answer “Way ahead of you, got Dami to pick you up in his Sorento,” she swiftly follows up with “He’s bringing you one of his hoodies.”

“I’m in,” he replies. And just as he hits send, Claudia steps into his room and informs him that his ‘baby brother’ is here to pick him up.

How very like Steph to assume he’ll say yes.

Claudia hovers around him as he walks to the elevator with his crutches. He assures her that he’s fine and can walk by himself. The crutches aren’t the most comfortable things to walk with, but Tim has more than enough upper body strength that it isn’t a struggle.

A few employees try and fail to watch him discreetly. To be fair, many of them do this even when he isn’t injured, but Tim’s pretty sure he’s the **_only_ ** topic in the break room this week, especially because he hasn’t said anything about why he’s injured.

As he steps into the elevator, he reminds Claudia that she can go home whenever she wants. She only scolds him and urges him to let Damian help him to the car. That’s not going to happen even if Tim lets him help, but he nods at Claudia all the same.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, before pressing the button to close the doors.

The elevator leads directly to a back entrance of Wayne Enterprises where employees go in from. The buttons in the elevators read the fingerprints of whoever presses them, and they work only for people with registered bio-metrics. The outer doors employ facial recognition to make sure only employees can get in through that entrance. It’s not a fool proof security system, they know well that both those things can be faked and faked well, but short of dna testing everyone before they enter the building, it’s the best one money could buy.

Guests can enter the lobby of Wayne Enterprises through the museum elevator, but the third floor is as far as it goes. Beyond that, they have to be assisted by the security officer assigned to the floor they’re headed for if they plan to go further. Security Officers are rotated randomly throughout every day. It’s only the system of elevators on what they call the Wayne Tower’s “spine”  that can take you to the office spaces, and all the way to the penthouse, though currently, the only fingerprints registered for that floor are those of Tim’s family, the Foxes, Steph and Babs.

Against the rules, Damian’s parked almost right outside the elevators. He’s still in his Gotham Academy uniform, wearing shades and sucking on a lollipop, looking every bit like the posh rich kid that he is while he leans back against his beloved second hand car. The car is spotless as usual. It's so well maintained it looks like it had just come out of the factory. If not for its dated specs, it would have been hard to tell it was second hand. It's all a product of Damian's care, no one else has been allowed to touch it. Ride it, sure. But the care and maintenance of the Sorento was all Damian. He started saving for it in middle school and bought it about a year ago with his accumulated allowance. He keeps the interiors as neat as possible and the only modification it has is a communicator that connects to the Bat Cave if you say the correct code. And yet despite all his investment in his car, Damian seems attached to it not because of sentiment but because of it's utility. Tim's always seen the Sorento as an extension of Damian's self, the only glimpse into his real personality that he allows in his "private" life.

“Did you get permission from security to park here?”

“I informed them,” Damian opens the passenger seat and presents it to Tim with a mocking flourish.

Tim puts his crutches into the back seat first, and then maneuvers himself into the passenger seat as quickly as he can. Damian closes the door for him before climbing into the driver’s seat. Damian reaches back and then throws what appears to be a Nightwing hoodie at Tim.

“Wasn’t this Dick’s birthday gift to you last year?”

Damian snorts “If you want to keep it for yourself, please do.”

Sliders isn’t too far from Wayne Enterprises. It’s right in between the business district and a middle class residential area. It's a favorite hang out for a lot of university kids and a go to restaurant for employees who want lunch they can eat on the go.

Damian doesn’t say much during the drive but that’s just how it is between the two of them. They’re on much better terms now than when Tim was a teenager, but, possibly because of the years they spent quarreling, they’re more than content to just sit in silence when they're alone together and not working.

Since it’s still early, there’s plenty of parking at Sliders. Damian takes off his blazer and tie before getting Tim’s crutches for him. He hands them to Tim when he opens the door. That gives Tim pause for a moment, before he receives his crutches and murmurs a thank you.

Inside Sliders, Steph, Cass and Duke are talking animatedly about something at a secluded semi-circle booth away from any windows. Tim can't hear what they're saying when they enter, but he immediately sees Steph making big and intense hand gestures while Duke and Cass look on with expressions that can only be described as 'skeptical'. They’re absorbed enough in the conversation that they don’t notice Tim and Damian until they’re right at the table and Damian says “Move over,”

Steph turns to him with a glare “Took you two long enough to get here,” and though there’s a bite to her words, she doesn't hesitate to scoot closer to Cass to give Damian room to sit.

Duke makes room for Tim too, and pats the space beside him.

As he climbs in, Duke asks “Hey, how’s the leg?”

“Healing,” Tim picks up the menu on the table and flips it open “should be all good in one or two months. Leslie used our tech.”

“One or two months,” Duke shakes his head “I still can’t believe B and O find the time to make stuff like that.”

Damian’s squints at his menu, “We should learn a thing or two from how they manage their time,”

“Glad you included yourself in that ‘we’, little D,” Steph smirks.

“Please,” Duke closes his eyes “please stop using that nickname for him.”

Steph slurps her milkshake obnoxiously loud, still sporting a smirk.

“If anyone is a little D,” says Damian “it’s Drake.”

Steph chokes on her drink. Duke and Tim have to wipe the milkshake from their faces.

“Well,” Steph says, holding her hands up in surrender “no comment.”

“Tim is just the right height,” Cass calmly interjects “it takes longer for him to fall from rooftops, quite useful.”

Damian snorts “That’s certainly one way to describe him,”

Tim rolls his eyes but says nothing in favor of calling a server. Damian orders a honey glazed chicken sandwich while Tim asks a soft shell crab one. When the server leaves, Steph puts her crossed arms on the table.

“So Timmy,” her smile widens until Tim begins to feel the need to leave “I heard SB’s in town.”

Tim opens his mouth to reply, but Damian beats him to it.

“Father’s put him on the case," he confirms "by the way Drake, if you want to bug his apartment, I’m free.”

Tim examines his face for a moment to makes sure he's serious, and then says “Maybe next week, I’m already having dinner with him tomorrow.”

“Already?” Duke frowns “Interview for the gala then, think he’ll ask about the leg?”

“He might,” Tim shrugs “I’m honestly more afraid of lunch with Vale.”

Everyone at the table grimaces. All of them have a black book of Vicki Vale encounters. If it wasn't such a PR nightmare, Tim's sure one of them would have already filed a restraining order.

“God knows why you volunteered for this,” says Damian.

“I seem to recall a little boy trying to barge into board meetings and throwing a tantrum when they told him no,”

Damian actually turns red “That was a long time ago,”

“Five years,” Cass smiles “not so long.”

“So about the clone,” Damian bites out “you should watch carefully to see if he knows you’re lying.”

“It’s an interview about Wayne Foundation business, everything I’ll be saying is the truth.”

“What if he asks about your leg? It’ll be good to confirm if they know who we are.”

“Hate to say it,” says Steph “But I’m with Dami on this one.”

“They’ve kept the secret this long though,” Duke scratches his chin “If you ask me? What’s the point, unless you plan to talk to the dude about our nightly activities.”

Damian and Cass sit a little straighter, jaws tense.

Steph slumps into her seat “Duke, not this again.”

“Why can’t we reach out? You know I’ll follow B’s rules, and I respect him, but think of how much good we can do if we reached out. We’d still focus on Gotham, but they could help.”

Damian visibly grits his teeth “That is a terrible idea, and I don’t want to keep explaining this to you and Todd.”

“No offense Damian, but shouldn’t it tell you something that it’s me and Jason who feel strongly about this? I know Steph here agrees with us too.”

“Don’t bring me into this,” Steph crosses her arms “doesn’t matter what I think anyway, B’s the boss.”

“B doesn’t have enough people who’ll call him on his bs. To him we’re his kids, so it can’t be us, not really.”

Tim just stares down at the table. He’s always agreed more with Jason and Duke, but like Steph, he’s never seen the point in getting into an argument when B won’t change his mind. The only way their vigilante network will keep working is if they keep operating with the same organizational structure as the wiseguys. And to keep doing that, following B’s rules, no matter how much they disagree with them, is a must. It’s about family and solidarity. It's about order.

Cass feels the most strongly about it, she’s a stickler for B’s rules and doesn’t often question the wisdom behind them. 

“Come on guys, this is pointless, isn’t it way more entertaining to tease Timmy here about his date?”

“It’s not a date.” Tim snaps almost instinctively. He immediately regrets it.

Steph winks at him “But you want it to be don’t you?”

Before Tim can protest the waiter comes back with his and Damian’s orders and Tim has to stew there glaring at Steph as he sets down their food in front of them. They thank the waiter before he leaves, and Tim proceeds to eating his sandwich, deciding he shouldn’t let himself get egged on any further.

Unfortunately, Duke asks “Why do y’all think he has a crush on SB anyway? It’s not like Damian didn’t obsessively research the littler SB.”

“Yes, but Damian doesn’t have a scrapbook of Jonathan Kent’s articles.”

“That’s because they don’t exist,” Tim bites out, resisting the urge the reach across the table and strangle Steph.

“Oh Timmy,” Steph tuts “Don’t pretend you didn’t meticulously research Tam before asking her out on a date. You’ve always been taking pages from Brucie’s playbook.”

“To be fair,” says Duke “Bruce is engaged, so it’s probably not all that bad a playbook. He’s just careful because of, you know.”

“Father’s previous relationships include my mother,” Damian scoffs “and though she is without question an amazing woman, she is also living proof that father's  ‘playbook’ is definitely that bad.”

“Yeah Bruce just got lucky with Selina,” Steph shrugs “but I’m sure Tim will find that special someone who’s willing to have freaky rooftop sex with him.”

Nearly everyone at the table groans in disgust, and even Cass is shaking her head.

“Never talk about my father’s sex life in my presence again Brown.”

“What?” Steph pops a fry into her mouth “Parents have sex. Deal with it.”

“Stop,” Tim holds up a hand “Just stop right there, and don’t open your mouth till I can’t hear what comes out of it.”

“Geez,” Steph snorts “I’m just stating the facts.”

“Well these are facts I don’t want,” Duke says with a grimace “I don’t even want to know how you know them.”

Steph shrugs “O’s got a lot of dirt on all of us,”

“I said I don’t want to know Steph!”

“Anyway,” Tim interjects loudly “I don’t have a crush on him, I just wanted to match Bruce’s research on Clark Kent.”

“Oooh,” Steph sucks in a breath with a hiss “not helping your case Timbo,”

Damian turns to Steph with narrowed eyes “What are you implying Brown?”

“You really wanna know?” Steph waggles her eyebrows.

Damian backs down, though he looks unhappy about it. He takes a big bite from his forgotten sandwich. Tim tries to do the same but he feels someone nudge his uninjured leg with their foot.

He looks up expecting it to be Steph, but it’s Cass who’s looking at him expectantly. Tim furrows his eyebrows, expressing his confusion. Cass just smiles and pats the table. She’s telling him he shouldn’t let Steph pressure him. He smiles back and nods.

Steph teases them all with hints about Bruce's sex life for another five minutes before Duke gets fed up and asks for the bill. Though they act annoyed with Steph, they’re all laughing when they step out into the parking lot. It’s been a while since Tim’s really just hung out with any of them for anything other than a briefing, and he feels lighter somehow; more ready, at any rate, to face those interviews tomorrow. He suspects that was the point.

Duke and Steph are headed back to Gotham U to get some studying done at the library while Cass is meeting Jason at his apartment for, Tim assumes, the Falcone case. They all hug Tim goodbye and attempt to do the same with Damian before giving up and getting into their cars.  

Once they’ve all driven off, Damian asks “The manor or your place?”

“Manor,” Tim turns back to him “Alfred will worry if I’m on my own.”

“Right,” Damian nods, and gets into the driver’s seat.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated whether or not I would make Tim and Kon fascinated with each other even before they met, it felt a bit self-indulgent. But this is my fanfic and my universe, so I thought, what the heck haha. I'm still kind of setting up this universe, I'll give more details little by little as I ease into the plot and the romance haha. 
> 
> I don't know if I'll be able to keep a once a month update schedule forever, I'll certainly try, but sometimes the interval might be longer haha.


	3. Dialogues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back to edit chapter two so some scenes would flow better, added a little bit more description for Damian. For the most part it is unchanged, and everything happens the same way. I'll probably give this chapter the same treatment before posting chapter four.
> 
> I'll be honest, I'm not fond of this chapter, but I wanted to get through with this part so I could move on lmao.
> 
> I'm grateful for all your comments and kudos, and even if you didn't give them, thank you so much for reading. Your compliments have kept me going.
> 
> A note: Although this story is told in third person, the descriptions are very much limited by the personality and background of whose point of view it is (i.e. Tim and Kon notice different things, may even remember some things differently). If something told in Kon's point of view is a little bit contradictory with what was told in Tim's, that's intentional. I'm fond of this sort of thing lol.

 

 

**TIM**

 

Conner Kent is good at finding blind spots. As a journalist, Tim thinks that’s one of his greatest strengths. He has a knack for finding good stories most of his colleagues don’t think to look into. Tim’s personal favorite is his article on how a group of Metropolis policemen became the middlemen between the Gazzo Family and LexCorp. They claimed to be “confiscating” Kryptonite shipments from the Gazzos, but were in truth, just shuffling them between one party to Lex Luthor.

To get the story, Kent had apparently befriended one of the cops who was in on the scheme, and even went undercover as a buyer, making deals with the Gazzo Family in swanky restaurants. He gained their trust, and then, he buried them. Conner Kent isn’t afraid of taking risks or taking scorn. While he’s not quite in the same class as his parents, there’s potential there. At the very least, among the Planet’s promising young talents, Conner Kent is one of the few who stands a chance at surviving being a reporter in Gotham.

Tim’s one in-person interaction with Kent is one that’s highly publicized and one he won’t soon forget. He’d been going over a case in his office at the Drake Home when the Shelter Director began banging on his door saying there was an intruder taking pictures in the common room. There was an urgency to his voice that had immediately sent Tim’s heart into a frenzy. Geared for the worst, he’d stormed out of his office and headed straight for the common room where he found Conner Kent flanked by two of the Drake Home’s security guards.

He remembers exactly what Kent said. He’d watched the video recordings several times after it happened.

“You guys have my camera now, and I don’t want to cause any trouble,” Kent was hunched over slightly, hands jammed into the pockets of his hoodie and grinning up at the guards who were eyeing him with less distrust than Tim would have liked “I’ll gladly leave,” he’d continued “Sorry for the bother.”

Tim remembers surveying the room, making sure no one was too stressed about the situation before stalking up to Kent and the guards and saying: “A goddamn reporter?”

Kent had turned to him, eyes wide in shock. He shoved his hands further into his pockets and turned around briskly, stepped back into one of the guards in a stumble.

“We were just about to escort him out,” the guards had said hurriedly, they seemed to believe they were in as much trouble as Kent was.

Tim had let his gaze stay on Kent’s stunned face. He stuck his hands into his pockets without warning and wrestled the memory card he knew was there out of Kent’s hands.

He held it up then, silently daring Kent to talk his way out of this.

Kent however, had begun to regain his composure.

He remembers Kent’s easy grin very clearly.

“I see you’ve found my spare, Mr. Wayne”, he’d said, a wink heavily implied in his voice.

Eyes narrowing, he’d asked the guards for Kent’s camera and immediately opened the memory card slot. It was, as he had expected, empty.

“Oh crap!” Kent had quickly put a hand on his head and bunched it up in his perm, he hunches further into himself, flushing slightly “Guess, I got in trouble for nothing huh.”

To the untrained eye, he had looked genuinely embarrassed.

One of the guards had snorted and grabbed Kent by the shoulders, almost consolingly “We’ll be seeing him out then Mr. Wayne.”

“Confiscate his phone first,” Tim had put the memory card into the camera again while the guards complied with his order. Seconds later he’s browsing through all the shots Kent took. Most of it is of the Drake Home’s interiors, but the first few shots were obviously taken in the manor’s gardens.

“This is an awful lot of nothing Mr. Reporter,” Tim had said as he’d finished browsing.

Kent had just continued giving him that boy-next-door grin. Something about it had made Tim’s blood boil, it still does sometimes when he remembers it.

Maybe it was the fact that a reporter was in what was his childhood home, and Tim was still conditioned (from his early years with his mother) to seethe at the very thought. Maybe it was that Kent was brazenly lying. Maybe it was because he felt Kent’s smiley schtick made him look at bit like a cranky asshole. There’s a lot of maybes, but no amount of psychoanalyzing himself has given Tim an answer that feels right.

He just knew then that he wanted Kent out. He’d grabbed him by his hoodie and started dragging him out of the room. Kent let out an involuntary gasp and stumbled through his first few steps. He does not, however, resist.

Once they’d gotten outside Tim looked him in the eye one last time and said “Leave”. Then he shoved him away and told the guards to accompany him out of the compound. Kent looked unbothered by the turn of events. Looking back, Tim thinks he may have already been writing an article in his head.

He could have gotten away with more, had Tim not stepped in. On top of his Kryptonian invulnerability, Kent was obviously well versed in charm. It’s not that his lies were particularly any good. But while his excuses are weak and easily debunked, his personality makes you want to believe in him.

He feels sincere so you don’t pick up on how he’s not really telling you anything substantial. His friendliness inspires trust but he keeps people far away enough as to not really know what he’s thinking. Tim wonders if this is a product of his years of being Superboy, of having to maintain Superman’s image while hanging on to a sense of self and a normal life (or maybe, Tim thinks, he’s just projecting; maybe Kent has no idea what he’s doing).

Whatever the case, it’s not hard to see why Perry White would send him here for a long term job. Tim doesn’t think Conner Kent accepted the job to spy on them, but Bruce thinks you can never be too careful. Even if Kent doesn’t set out to find anything, he’s an investigative reporter with superhuman senses, so he’s probably going to stumble upon something sensitive anyway. That’s why they need round the clock surveillance on him.

Oracle and B had been keeping tabs on Kent last week, but when it became clear Kent would be around for much longer, they had decided to hand off the job to someone else. They’d still been in the middle of deliberating about it when by some stroke of luck or misfortune, Tim gets injured.

It’s not a high risk job, but since a Kryptonian’s involved, Tim knows, without having to check, that Bruce has classified this mission as a level one priority task. Bruce is weird about having any meta in Gotham, but he’s extra weird about the Kryptonians. The wealth of research they have on them is above and beyond the data they’ve collected on anyone else in the Justice League put together. He sees them as a bigger threat, Tim thinks, because they know who he is.

Tim doesn’t really agree with him, it’s been decades since Clark Kent found out, and nothing’s come of it. He doubts any of the Kents will really do anything with the information. Tim thinks Bruce has always just been slow to trust anyone outside the family. The fact that Bruce trusted Duke so quickly is nothing short of a miracle, although Duke is the type of guy who tends to inspire trust.

Of everyone in the family, probably only Damian is as wary of the Kents as Bruce is. In a strange way, Tim trusts them. They’ve all got this secret between them that they’ve implicitly decided to keep. He won’t deny that the Kryptonians are potentially dangerous, but when it comes down to it, so are they.

He doesn’t voice any of this out too much, everyone likes to tease him like he’s got a crush. Maybe Tim can get hyper focused on Superboy, but that’s mostly because Conner Kent is his personal research project. Tim would characterize it as a professional attachment. He appeared early into Tim’s career as Robin, so Tim was part of Bruce’s scramble to get as much information on him as possible. It was Tim who managed to piece together the fact that Conner is a clone.

In a way, that project shaped how Tim does detective work. He’s since applied the same meticulousness to every investigation he’s been a part of. Sometimes he gets lost in it, picks up a thread and follows it till the end without ever shutting his eyes to rest. When it’s a mission that’s **_his_** , something from his territory, he’s occasionally even worse.

Though he shares guard over the Escabedo Cartel’s turf with Jason, for the most part, Tim’s territory has always been synonymous with Falcone territory. It used to be one of the quieter parts of town (as quiet as things can get in Gotham), but the dangerous cocktail of drugs and firearms has made things pretty difficult in recent years. The Falcones have been desperately trying to regain power, and they’ve resorted to doing illegal shipments from anyone and everyone who asks. It’s kept their finances steady, but Tim doesn’t think they’re anywhere near the way they used to be thanks in part to how he and his family have been managing to stop a lot of their shipments.

Way back in Bruce’s early days as Batman, the Falcones were big-- arguably the biggest crime family Gotham’s ever seen. The police called them the ‘Roman Empire’, and everyone fell to their knees for Carmine ‘The Roman’ Falcone. From the Tricorner Yards to Gotham Heights, everyone was under his influence. In those days, they were untouchable, not by the cops and certainly not by one man dressed as a bat. But like every empire that’s thought itself invincible, the Falcones fell by their own hubris. They refused to see the problem until it was too late and their numbers had been dwindled irreparably by the Hangman and Holiday murders.

At least that’s how Bruce tells the story in his file.

The truth of what happened is probably more complicated than that, but the truth of what **_is_ ** , is simple. The Falcones aren’t big shots anymore, none of the crime families are. The residents of Arkham Asylum have turned their businesses into small tight knit operations that dealt in drugs, arms or lives for the right price.

Whether it’s the people of the streets of Gotham or the mansions of Gotham Heights, no one bows to anyone’s feet anymore-- they look to the skies in search of the big bad bat.

 

 

-o-o-o-o-

  


 

Meetings with Vicki Vale are unpredictable, and always stressful. Tim gets the feeling that she has suspicions about his family’s nightly activities and that Bruce’s polo excuses during those unfortunate months when they were dating were bullshit. The only thing stopping her from writing about it is that she doesn’t have irrefutable proof, and if she wrote something about his family without that it could cost her her career.

Where Lois Lane is a raging bull of a reporter, Vicki Vale is a kettle of vultures patiently circling around you, waiting for the moment when they can finally swoop in and pick you apart. The only virtue Vale treasures is truthfulness and everything else, including basic decency, may be sacrificed. Once she gets a whiff of a story she’ll charge in, take a bite, and bleed it dry. Vicki Vale pursues the truth for the sake of truth. She doesn’t see it as justice, she just enjoys the dissection, being able to pick apart perceived reality to unearth whatever is lurking underneath, ugly or pretty. Consequences aren’t part of the equation.

In a way that’s admirable, if selfish. Truth for the sake of truth. It’s a brand of single-mindedness only places like Gotham City could produce, one that walks the line between madness and reason. Just obsessive enough to still say sane but a little too obsessive to be reasoned with. Tim thinks Bruce saw a little of himself in Vale and that’s what initially attracted him to her and what later caused their break up. Vale would never understand Bruce’s deceit, and they were too similar in their stubborness to compromise.

Probably one of the worst things about Vale though, is that she has this way of looking at you that make you feel like she’s skinning you alive. Every time you sit across her, you have to be nothing short of impenetrable. That’s why Tim wants his meetings with her to be short, quick, and always at lunch time so there’s a chance he’ll get called away for a meeting.

He’s sure she’s noticed but she doesn’t let it get her down. She never wastes time with the “what” questions that they both know the answers to and gets straight to the “whys”.

Today they’re eating ramen at a place near Wayne Tower. It’s a new place that hasn’t quite taken off yet, so the restaurant isn’t filled to the brim with people and noise. They get a decent amount of privacy at the corner of the restaurant, it’s not too noisy that they have to shout out their conversation but not too quiet that anyone nearby could listen in.

The first thing she asks after they’ve ordered their food is “Why is your leg broken?”

A couple of years ago, Tim would have tried to forcefully steer the conversation to what the meeting was supposed to be about. With more experience under his belt, he knows any sort of effort to do that would be useless.

He smiles at her, a polite slight upward movement of the edges of his lips “It’s rather embarrassing.”

“How so?” Vale pushes her recorder closer to Tim.

He pretends not to see it, is careful not to let his expression twitch. “Well you would think I’d be used to the manor’s narrow steps.”

“Do you mean to say you fell down the steps, legs first?”

Tim takes a drink of water and lets silence stretch between them. He gives her his best smile, neither confirming nor denying her assumption.

If Vale is bothered by this, her expression doesn’t betray it. Bruce says it wasn’t always that way, she used to be easier to read. Over the years she trained herself to have a good poker face when it became apparent it would help in her investigations.

“Has your injury in any way affected the Wayne Foundation Gala preparations?”

“Not at all. I’d nearly been finished with my end of the preparations by the time it happened, I was only waiting for the execution of the plans.”

“You seem to be more used to your responsibilities,” perhaps unconsciously, Vale has begun running her index finger over the rim of her glass. A nervous habit? Or a sign of impatience?

“Everyone’s been very supportive of me,”

“Including your father?”

A leading question, if Tim ever heard one. “Yes,” he says “Bruce is always supportive.”

“Yet it’s been reported that he was not always so keen on you joining Wayne Enterprises,”

Tim holds in a snort, Vale had been the one who’d reported on that. Bruce had, intentionally Tim thinks, let it slip how he didn’t really approve of Tim joining Wayne Enterprises, even if it was in a limited capacity. Technically, Tim’s not even an employee. He has an office there largely, he suspects, because he’s Tim Wayne.

As a non-executive managing director, he’s both a part of the company and an outsider. It’s necessary to his job description. He’s mostly just performing watchdog duties on the way the company’s run. He also takes care of a lot of their charity parties as sort of representative of their family. If Tim didn’t have much else going on, it would be a pretty cushy gig. He doesn’t even have to come into work everyday, except when there’s a big board meeting or event coming up.

Through a few strategic placements of listening devices, Tim overheard the other members of the board calling him a spy for the major stockholders. Although the positive results of Tim’s suggested strategy changes have softened a lot of them up to his presence, there are others who are still all too ready to stab him in the back.

That sort of attention is part of why Bruce was so against him taking the position in the first place. But, the fact that Bruce didn’t go beyond passive aggressively communicating his displeasure confirmed that even he could see why someone from the family needed to take that specific position. Tam Fox is a brilliant wealth manager, but even with her father as the CEO of WE, some of their more clandestine cash transfers have been, well, problematic for her to hide to say the least.

“At times we may not see eye to eye,” Tim concedes “but Bruce is always supportive.”

“Bruce does have the tendency to be critical even when he’s being supportive,” Vale huffs, amused “I’d go as far to say it can be his own version of support.”

Tim can’t hide his smile “That seems about right.”

“What does he think about you tackling a new advocacy?”

“It’s not entirely new, we’ve been donating to various trusted charities that endeavor to help people with disabilities live better lives. However, it’s only recently that we’ve been able to convince the board to allow our R&D facilities to be used to create technology that will be used to that end. This charity gala is aimed at raising enough funds to distribute that technology to the people of Gotham who need it, for little to no cost.”

Vale smirks, though she doesn’t say it out loud Tim knows his family’s idealism (and the irony of it in the face of their lifestyle) amuses her. She’s probably heard similar spiels from Bruce.

“Are there future plans to bring this technology outside of Gotham?”

Tim nods “I’m already planning on arrangements for fundraisers to help provide it in all of New Jersey for similar costs. It might take some more time however to extend our coverage, though it may be surprising or unbelievable to some, the company does not have the resources to provide such a wide ranging service at this time.”

“Will the experimental medical equipment your father previously talked about be part of those made available?”

“We would like them to be, but many of the hospitals we’ve talked to are hesitant to use them without more tests.”

“All this is incredibly ambitious, how have you been able to convince your board of directors?”

“It was a taxing process, but they are people who see reason.”

Putting it less diplomatically, Tim had employed persistence and tons of math in order to convince the hardheaded board of directors that the company would not only earn money from this but they would also be bolstering their reputation by undertaking this project, which in turn would help the company earn even more money.

Vale makes a face, intentionally making it known that she doesn’t quite believe a bunch of millionaires are reasonable and charitable people, especially in this city.

Tim just acts like he hadn’t picked up on that.

Their orders arrive and Vale holds her questions long enough for everything to be laid out by the servers. Tim asks for their bill just as they’re about to leave.

Once he’s alone with Vale again, she asks “Will any of your siblings be joining Wayne Enterprises? Perhaps Duke Thomas?”

“I won’t claim to know what they’re thinking,” Tim takes a sip of the soup using his renge spoon, sampling its flavor and heat. Satisfied with what he gets, he picks up his chopsticks and begins to eat.

Vale observes him for a moment, before beginning to eat from her own bowl. Not even a minute later, she has a question for him again.

“Is there truth to your sister Cassandra helping you with the gala?”

Tim chews on his food first before answering. The time to think this gives him is why he prefers lunch and dinner meetings with the media so much.

“She helped me invite certain organizations, so yes there is some truth to that.”

“So she will be attending the gala? Who else in the family will be making an appearance?”

Tim makes it look like he’s thinking about it for moment and then answers “Cassandra will be there yes, as will Jason and Damian. Duke will most likely be there as well, but nobody else has mentioned their plans yet.” he shrugs “I suppose we’ll both find out on the night itself.”

“And your stepmom-to-be?”

 _Is she fishing information about the wedding preparations?_ Tim wonders. He knows a lot of journalists would love more details since Bruce and Selina have been tight-lipped about everything.

“Selina’s been working on an upcoming event for the animal shelters, it would depend on her schedule.” he smiles “Though I’m sure she’d love to come and drag Bruce out with her.”

“I see,” it’s Vale’s turn to use eating as an excuse to think. Tim supposes she's weighing on whether to pursue more questions on Selina or go back to what this interview was supposed to be about, when she speaks, it’s apparent the latter has won. “Do you have a concrete plan for the distribution and subsequent maintenance of the devices?”

Tim spends the rest of their lunch explaining the logistics of what they hope to achieve, and how their donation goal would help achieve that. Vale listens to him intently throughout his spiel, and doesn’t bring up his family again for the rest of their meeting. She efficiently points out some of the kinks in their plans and by the time they stand to take their leave Tim thinks he’s given her enough info for what he hopes will be a flattering and helpful article to gala’s cause. Afterwards, Vale sees him to his car.

“Would you like a ride?” he asks through the window, just as he’s climbed in.

“I have another appointment in the area,” and then as if she can’t help herself “why is your leg broken Timothy? Really.”

Tim schools his expression into a poker face. It’s just like her to ambush him before he leaves. Slowly, he lets himself smile. “I’ll be seeing you Ms. Vale” he says, before rolling up the window and telling his driver to head back.

  
  
  
  


**KON**

 

Kon can’t pick a tie. Considering he only he has three ties with him, that’s pretty pathetic. He’s this close to googling what Tim Wayne’s favorite color is but that would be too much even for him (besides, what if he didn’t have that color?). After another moment of hesitation, he grabs dark blue one with thin grey stripes. It’s the classiest looking one he owns. Lois and Clark had given it to him along with a three piece suit back when he got his first job.

He forgoes the vest and settles with a long sleeved button down polo shirt. Pairing it with his slacks and black oxfords, he looks just casual enough for a family owned diner. With a tie and a blazer, he’ll look classy enough for a swanky uptown restaurant. He’s ready for any eventuality.

He’s got his recorder, his notebook, his phone, and his wallet -- all placed neatly into his brown satchel bag. All that’s left is for him to take the bus to Wayne Enterprises and meet with Tim Wayne for their dinner meeting.

 _Deep breathes. You got this_.

He grabs the only non-hoodie coat he brought with him (a black trenchcoat Bart gave him a couple of birthdays ago) and heads out.

It’s much colder in Gotham than in Metropolis or Smallville, but Kon finds it more pleasant than not. He likes the change. He’s used to warm places. It gets cold in Kansas, sure, but not nearly as cold as it does here. The only time he spent more than a day anywhere near as cold was when he spent Christmas with Bart’s family (way back in their Young Justice days, before Kon left his base in Hawaii).

When Kon gets down from the bus at Wayne Tower, he shivers. He convinces himself it’s just the cold and steps through the courtyard and into Wayne Tower.

He's ten minutes early for his appointment. He informs the receptionist at WE's lobby about what he’s here for and finds himself a comfortable seat with a good view of the elevators. He pretends to browse a magazine.

At precisely seven pm, Tim Wayne exits the elevator with a woman Kon assumes is his assistant. His injury has done nothing to affect his posture. He still walks in an assured, steady manner like he’s been using his crutches for years instead of days. He spots Kon almost immediately, and walks toward him, brisk but unhurried.

Kon puts down his magazine and rises from his seat just as Wayne stops in front of him. He swallows once, heart beating loudly in his chest. They’re close enough to touch if they reached their arms out. It’s likely intentional, Kon wipes his hands in his pockets.

“We meet again, Mr. Kent,” Wayne inclines his head slightly to one side “I would shake your hand but I’m afraid it might be difficult for me right now.”

“Oh uh, it’s fine,” fumbling, marvelous “I understand, Mr. Wayne,”

“Call me Tim,” he says it so carelessly Kon’s convinced he doesn’t mean it; that it’s just a thing he says to fake familiarity.

But Kon doesn’t want to keep calling him Mr. Wayne all night, so he says, “Only if you call me Kon”.

“Con then,” Tim smiles back “This is my assistant Claudia Galvez, you’ve spoken with her,”

Claudia holds out a hand for Kon to shake but not before throwing an exasperated look at Tim, probably for mentioning her name. Not that she really needed any introductions. Now that he’s gotten a good look at her Kon recognizes her face as one Lucius Fox’s team of assistants. Lois did a piece about them years ago. Kon didn’t know she’d been transferred to Tim.

He shakes her hand and says “Nice to meet you Ms. Galvez,”

“And you Mr. Kent,” her grip on his hand is firm “do be careful with Timothy tonight.”

“I can’t promise it’ll all be easy questions, gotta please the boss with something you know?”

“Oh he can take it I’m sure,”

Tim loudly clears his throat to interrupt them “The car is waiting,”

Claudia gives Tim a look that Kon can’t read, but that Tim seems to understand. She walks with them to the elevator and says her goodbyes to them again as the doors close. Neither of them say anything once they’re alone. It doesn’t seem to Kon like Tim’s uncomfortable. Whether it’s an act or not is debatable, but to Kon he seems at ease. His heartbeat is calm and steady, no sign of nervousness. Kon’s own heartbeat is a little more erratic.

When elevator doors open, they’re greeted by a man Kon immediately recognizes, Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne Family butler. Behind him, is a silver Aston Martin, one Bruce Wayne has been known to drive to parties.

“Good evening Master Timothy,” he sounds genuinely fond when he says it, and then, more formally “and to you Master Kent.”

“Just Kon is fine,”

Pennyworth pauses, then nods “Master Conner then,”

Kon’s about to ask him to drop the “master” when he hears Tim laughing under his breath beside him. It strikes him that he’s never heard the sound before, that Tim Wayne smiles in almost every video he’s in but his laughter’s never been caught on camera. Kon turns to him, his look probably a mixture of baffled and awed.

“He’s never going to drop it,” Tim says, as if he’d read Kon’s mind “everyone’s tried.”

“I see,” Kon says carefully.

Pennyworth opens the door for Tim and takes his crutches for him and places them into the trunk. He then leads Kon to the other side of the car, he opens the backseat door for him too and Kon gets in slowly, careful to duck his head so he doesn’t accidentally dent a car that probably costs more than his life insurance.

He can feel Tim Wayne’s eyes on him, openly taking in Kon’s actions. His blank expression makes Kon nervous, makes him wonder if he’d read Kon’s mind again. He fumbles putting on his seatbelt, once he’s able to fasten it he can feel the car begin moving. He looks up and catches Tim’s bright grey eyes, still observing him intently.

“You’ve changed your look,” Tim says. He points at his ears “no more piercings or curls.”

“I uh,” Kon clears his throat “I shaved my head a couple of years back,”

“Which would be around the same time you joined the Planet I suppose?”

“Well,” he feels as if he’s the one being interviewed “yeah.”

Tim shifts his gaze away from him, leans back against his seat “You seem a bit subdued tonight Con.”

“You caught me trespassing the last time we met, I think anything’s subdued compared to that.”

Tim looks towards the window, away from Kon, “I suppose that’s true,” he says, sounding like he could be grinning.

The restaurant they bring him to makes him glad he wore a coat and tie. Kon’s seen this place recommended on foodie blogs. It’s got five star ratings all over, real high quality food, at real high prices. He had no plans to eat here because of his already hemorrhaging wallet, though the pictures definitely made him want to. It’s got private rooms and A+ service and is a painfully stereotypical place to hold a business meeting in. Kon spots at least two groups of businessmen as their waiter leads them to a private room.

Kon expects a room big enough for a party like the type certain Metropolis based billionaires usually get but this one’s cozy. Small but not suffocating because of the window overlooking what Kon thinks might be a garden were it not winter. A green house sits at the far end of the compound.

“Is that open to the public?” Kon asks the waiter, hiking his thumb towards the window.

“Not usually sir, we grow all our flowers and vegetables there.”

“If you’re still here in the spring,” Tim says, eyes on his menu “I could ask them to give us a tour.”

“We’d be glad to have you both,” the waiter sets a buzzer on their table “Ms. Anna will be your server tonight, she’ll be ready for you at your leisure.”

Tim looks up from his menu “Thank you Levi,”

The waiter, Levi, inclines his head at Tim, and then at Kon, and leaves them to it. Kon didn’t see a name tag on the guy, which must mean Tim’s been here a lot. Kon wonders if he has pull to see the gardens because he’s a regular or because he owns the place. Both options seem likely.

Kon frowns at his menu. The terms aren’t entirely unfamiliar to him of course but the sheer variety of items makes quick decision making difficult.

“If you’re having trouble choosing, I recommend any of their gnocchi. If you’d like dinner with a bit of a show, all their pasta cooked in their parmigiano cheese wheel are quite good.”

Kon clears his throat “Wouldn’t that be a little distracting?”

The edges of Tim’s mouth tug up slightly “It’s not a long process, and I'm not in any hurry to leave.”

Kon's not in a hurry either, but that’s hardly the point. It just doesn’t seem like the sort of thing Kon should be ordering while he’s working. He’s not a guest, he’s a reporter doing an interview. Tim seems to want to treat him like a guest though, like a client he’s wining and dining.

“Cheese wheel seems more like a second date type of thing,” he jokes, already perusing the surprisingly wide selection of gnocchi.

Tim lets out a startled cough which morphs into a short laugh “I see,” he says, confusion all over his smiling face.

The expression drops before Kon can smile back. He clears his throat again and goes back to deciding what his order will be. When he’s done, he folds the menu back neatly, and looks up to find Tim Wayne observing him, his own menu already folded.

“Ready to order?” Tim asks.

Kon nods, mutely. Tim presses the buzzer and the Ms. Anna that Levi referred to earlier comes to take their orders. Tim orders a bottle of cider for them, along with squid ink pasta with garlic prawns. Kon goes for the gnocchi drenched in what he knows to be four cheeses because that seems safe (and sounds amazing).

Once they’re alone again, Kon asks Tim if he can bring out his recorder. He considers bringing out his notepad too but decides against it in the end. He knows he won’t really use it.

Before pressing record he asks “Why did you chose this place by the way? Off the record. I’m just curious.”

“The food and the private rooms,” Tim’s hands rest just at the edge of the table, folded together in a loose ball “It’s something we do for all the Daily Planet correspondents.”

“And for Gazette interviews?”

Tim glances towards his recorder, to check, Kon assumes, if this is still off record.

“I’d rather not be alone in a small room with Vicki Vale.”

 _Touche,_ Kon thinks, holding in a laugh.

“Right so, I’ll start recording now, is that alright?”

Tim nods, back straight, body strung tight. His heartbeat jumps twice before he seems to will it back into the steady metronome it usually sounds like.

Kon’s glad to know he’s not the only nervous one.

“I wanted to start with what made you interested in more actively trying to improve the lives of persons with disabilities, you’ve made generous donations before to other organizations, why the sudden push for a big fundraiser?”

Tim’s eyes narrow a fraction, it’s so negligible Kon knows he wouldn’t have noticed without his kind of eyes “We’ve always been interested in doing something of this nature, unfortunately it took a while to convince the company to allow R&D to be used for this purpose. In a sense, this is an offshoot of our initiative to put more of WayneTech’s medical equipment in hospitals.”

“So these devices and equipment you will be providing were developed alongside the experimental bone repair method and the like?”

“They weren’t developed together by the same team, but they’re all ultimately part of our push to make world class healthcare accessible to everyone in Gotham for free.”

“I see, so to you this isn’t a new advocacy per se, but a sort of…” Kon waves a hand “logical continuation of the foundation’s healthcare initiatives.”

“Yes,” Tim nods stiffly “and as with all our initiatives we’re aiming to collect enough funds to provide our proposed services for free, and to anyone in Gotham who may need them.”

“Would you allow your tech to be taken outside of Gotham?”

“We’re planning to extend the coverage in the future, there are already plans for all of New Jersey, but it will take some time before we can extend our reach further. Convincing hospitals to take a chance with us has been tough to say the least. We would be open to sell the equipment to hospitals and charitable institutions outside of this state however, if they offered.”

“The medical tech we mentioned earlier, they’re not in a lot of hospitals here in Gotham yet?”

“Thomas Wayne Medical makes some use of them, as does Gotham General, but the other hospitals in the city think they’re too untested to use.”

“Do you agree with them?”

“No, I have every faith in our tech. The results we’ve had in the hospitals they are available in speak for themselves.”

“I see,” Kon swallows “did you use the tech yourself after your accident?”

A pause, Tim Wayne’s heartbeat jumps once “My accident?”

“Unless it was on purpose?”

Tim frowns, forehead creasing “No, certainly not. I didn’t break my leg on purpose.”

“Right,” Kon tries for a placating smile “so after the accident which broke your leg, did you get treated with WayneTech?”

Tim takes a deep breath, and slowly lets it out. His body sags slightly before he looks Kon in the eyes and says “Yes, I did. I’m told it will be better quite soon.”

“Three weeks? Four?”

“Soon,” he insists, his voice sounding final. Tim’s gaze is boring into him again, like he’s trying to find out just what Kon’s game is.

“There’s no better advertising than using it yourself,”

“I suppose,” Tim says slowly.

Kon decides pushing any further would ruin the evening. He’d like to know what the ‘accident’ was, but just getting him to acknowledge that something happened is a big win in Kon’s book.

“I went to the Wayne Enterprises museum last week. Was it your idea to do away with the entry fee for the Wayne Foundation’s anniversary?”

“It wasn’t. According to Lucius, it was Tam’s idea.”

Kon’s surprised he’s mentioning his ex-girlfriend so easily. Anyone else would have seen that as an opening to prod, but Kon doesn’t want to lose his train of thought for the interview’s main purpose. Perry’s not paying him for relationship gossip anyway, though he supposes he’ll have to cover Bruce Wayne’s upcoming wedding.

“Is the creation of a museum on the foundation also part of the fortieth anniversary celebration? I heard from your museum staff that it was your idea to create it.”

“Yes, it was my idea. I suppose it’s part of the celebration in the sense that I thought of doing it primarily because of the anniversary. Although, it’s also a bit personal since I know Bruce has always wanted to pay homage to his mother.”

“What exhibits can we expect?”

“I’d rather not give too much away, but it will be similar in spirit to the Wayne Enterprises exhibits.”

“Have you done anything else for the fortieth anniversary celebration? Has it affected your preparations for the gala for example?”

“This anniversary has been an opportunity to aim for something that’s,” Tim clicks his tongue “How do I put this… higher? Than what we usually aim for in our fundraising galas I mean,” he pauses, chews on his thumb absentmindedly “I think it’s certainly one of the reasons why the board of directors finally approved our proposal. But all in all I don’t think we really did anything too out of the ordinary, I think it’s more in the spirit of the foundation to just keep doing the work.”

“And that work has been pretty varied, how have you all managed to keep up with all the causes you’re supporting?”

Tim’s eyebrows furrow “Sorry, I’m not sure what you’re asking exactly, could you repeat the question?”

Kon listens for Tim’s heartbeat again before he answers. It’s still calm and steady, gentle like the ebb and flow of waves into a beach on a bright summer’s day.

It tells Kon absolutely nothing.

“The Wayne Foundation has championed many advocacies; during your time on the helm alone, you’ve tackled three. I was wondering if the number of fundraisers you hold has been enough to sustain the, as you said, **_initiatives_ ** that the foundation’s been advocating. For instance, your drive for school supplies and textbooks was successful but I wonder if there’s been a continuing effort to improve the education system in the city.”

Tim doesn’t immediately answer. He meets Kon’s gaze evenly, eyes shining with an unnameable emotion. There’s an easy grace to his body language that he didn’t have in the beginning of their night. With one hand on the table, his thumb moving back and forth across the silk in a careless motion, and his body reclining back on his chair, Tim Wayne looks a little like a fox in a hole, protective of his own space, but nonetheless intrigued about what’s outside of it.

The silence is broken by a knock on their door. Tim calls them in, his eyes not leaving Kon. Ms. Anna serves them their food and pours their cider into two wine glasses with stout bowls funneling into smaller openings. She leaves briskly after they thank her.

Tim picks up his glass of cider and swirls it, his gaze leaves Kon long enough for him to smell his drink and have a first sip. Kon mimics him, careful that he doesn’t sniff too hard. It’s smells sweet, almost like apple candy. Kon always pictured Tim Wayne as a red wine kind of guy, interesting that he would order this. He’s about to ask about it when Tim starts speaking again.

“We’ve done our best to make a continuing effort for all our advocacies. There’s challenges to it, but we’ve got a lot of good people working on them. It’s on me to manage the big fundraising parties, but we get donations year round outside of them, and we’ve got our people managing that. There are causes that some in my family pay particular attention too and that helps, just as I have largely involved myself with the Drake Home. My opinion is admittedly biased, but there are lots of studies to show we’ve been effective.”

“I see, so there’s a concrete game plan to elevate Gotham behind the galas?”

“Yes,” Tim answers quickly, without hesitation “we put a lot of heart and research in everything we do.”

Tim’s leading forward slightly, his jaw stiff, nostrils widening slightly. After a moment, he deflates, slowly letting out a shuddering breath. It’s then that Kon realizes what Tim is actually defending.

He doesn’t know how to react. He’s not sure if he should acknowledge the fact that Tim’s not just defending his day job. Kon doesn’t even know what made Tim think he was implying anything about that.

He breaks eye contact and shoves a gnocchi into his mouth. It’s chewy in a way he hadn’t expected, when he flattens it with his tongue it feels a little like cookie dough. He likes the salty mix of cheeses, it overpowers whatever flavor the gnocchi had. It’s good. He's not sure he would come back and spend his money on it.

“Do you not like your food?”

Kon looks up, fork halfway to his mouth. There’s no emotion in Tim’s face again. In the seconds it took to chew one piece of gnocchi he’s rearranged himself back into the stiff prim and proper posture he’d adopted early into the interview.

“It’s good,” Kon wipes his mouth with his napkin “I kind of regret ordering something without any meat in it though.”

“Would you like to order something else then?”

“Oh no that’s--” he clears his throat “it’s fine. It’s perfectly fine. Shall we just, uh, continue?”

“Sure,” Tim grabs his fork “but I suppose we should start eating while we’re at it so our food doesn’t grow cold.”

“Right,” he clears his throat again, more loudly this time “You mentioned research, can you tell me a bit about the studies done to assure people that the tech you’re offering is effective?”

Tim smiles “I’ll be glad to,” it doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

-o-o-o-o-

  


Somehow Kon doesn’t fuck up the rest of the interview. Tim doesn’t get defensive again for the rest their meal, for one thing. He’s all business, answering Kon’s questions with as much detail as he was able. Kon’s probably not going to be able to use a lot of it for the article (he doubts people will be all that interested in logistics issues), but what he doesn’t use for this one he’ll probably be able to use for his bigger project.

They got so absorbed in the nitty gritty of the medical tech the Wayne Foundation’s trying to provide that Kon couldn’t bring up his other assignment. He knows he has to if he’s planning to use anything Tim Wayne’s said. He keeps trying to find an opening but there’s no smooth way to bring it up in conversation. As Tim asks for the bill, he resolves he’ll just have to ram it in.

“I should mention that I’m writing this other article, if it’s alright with you I’d like to use parts of this conversation for it.”

“What is the article on?” Tim asks, still all business, unreadable.

“Gotham City,”

“Gotham City?”

“Yes, it’s kind of like that uh, old Time Magazine article,”

Tim eye twitches “Oh,”

“But uh, hopefully more… fair.”

The annoyance melts away from Tim face. His eyes widen a fraction, but he quickly blinks away whatever sliver of emotion they might have shown. Kon watches his adam’s apple bob as he gulps.

“You didn’t think it was fair?”

“Definitely not,” Kon makes sure he says it firmly enough that there’s no chance he could be interpreted as lying.

He’s about to expound on that but their server comes back with their bill. Tim looks at the total quickly before handing her what looks like a company card. After she leaves Tim reaches back into his wallet and pulls out another card. This time a glossy white one, he hands it to Kon.

Carefully, Kon receives it. On the face of the card in a neat black script are the letters ‘TJW’ and below it, in a clear block font, a cell phone number and an e-mail address.

“Thank you,” he mutters, staring at the card in shock, he looks up “But uh, what for?”

“I’d like to convince you of Gotham, whenever you have the time,” he tips his head to one side “Admittedly I won’t always have time, but if you’re in need of ideas or a tour guide, rest assured I will e-mail you back.”

This is not how Kon thought this conversation would go, he’s not sure what else he can say but “Thank you,”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lose it, I don’t give that out to just anyone.”

“Noted,” Kon stares back down at the card, then carefully places it in his own wallet, in the same pocket where he places his credit cards.

Ms. Anna comes back with Tim’s company card, asks him to sign for it. When she leaves again to get their receipt, Tim pulls out his phone. After he unlocks it he asks, “Would you like a ride home?”

“Oh uh, isn’t it out of the way?”

“I’m not headed back for Gotham Heights yet, I’m visiting someone in your area, it’s no trouble,”

Not having to take the bus back would definitely be a good thing, but Kon wouldn’t know how to fill the silence of the car ride. With all his previous interviewees he’d default to personal questions, like known family or hobbies. Those aren’t the sort of things he can bring up with Tim Wayne.

Still he doesn’t want to broadcast his discomfort by refusing so he says “Alright, if you’re sure.”

Alfred picks them up where he dropped them off. By the look of the front seat, he seems to have done some grocery shopping. Kon had assumed, wrongly apparently, that the Waynes got all their groceries delivered. When Tim gets in the car, he looks amused to see the paper bags in the front seat.

“Did you get inspired while eating dinner again Alfred?”

“I received a call from Miss Cassandra, it seems Master Jason continues to live off on greasy take-out food.”

“Ah, well, that explains it,” Tim shakes his head, smile still on his face as he closes the door “Alfred, we’ll be dropping off Con in his apartment first.”

“Certainly sir,”

Alfred starts driving without asking Kon for directions.

“Uhm,” Kon turns to Tim “do you guys know where I live?”

“You live in the apartment the Daily Planet is leasing for its Gotham Correspondents,” Tim raises an eyebrow at him “Unless they’ve decided to rent another place?”

“No, no, it’s the same apartment,” Kon just didn’t know Tim’s been taking their correspondents back to that apartment often enough that even Alfred knows where it is without having to ask.

Tim starts texting someone a couple of minutes into the drive. Kon catches the name ‘Jason’ before he looks away. He’d love to snoop by reading their texts, but to do it that openly would probably be too much. The better option here, he thinks, is to ask.

“Are you visiting your brother?”

“Yes,” Tim doesn’t stop texting, Kon can hear the gentle tapping sounds of his thumbs flying across the touch screen “he lives in a building near the Cathedral, I’m sure you could find the address if you tried.”

“His address is available to the public?”

“Jason likes to flip off paparazzi in the morning and before bed,” Tim snorts “he says it’s therapeutic.”

 _Wouldn’t that compromise his other job?_ Kon desperately wants to ask. It was just counter-intuitive for someone with a secret identity to invite attention like that.

He glances at Tim’s face, illuminated by the light of his cellphone. Here’s another guy who intentionally puts himself in the spotlight.

“The media doesn’t bother him?”

“Ha!” the edges of Tim’s eyes wrinkle “Oh they do, it’s why he wants the chance to heckle them.”

“He’s…” Kon struggles to find the right word “a character.”

“That he is,” Tim finally puts his phone down “we have an alright relationship with the media all in all, but the tabloids can be a lot.”

“Seems like you’ve had a good relationship with the Planet too.”

Tim gives him a sideways look “Giving people rides doesn’t make them like me, I’m sure it won’t stop you from writing whatever you want,”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Kon palms the back of his neck “and for what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure none of the correspondents hated you.”

“Well,” Tim lets out a breath “you might be right, the Planet is never nasty in its criticisms.”

“You’re a step up from the rich guys back home, trust me.” It’s probably not much of a comparison, but Kon means it.

The car slows to a stop, and Tim turns to him, grey eyes gleaming in the dark.

“You don't know me Conner Kent,”

Tim’s voice descends to a low timbre as he says it, whispers it really, and so softly that Kon’s not sure he could have heard it were he a regular human being. Tim doesn’t look like he expects a reply, but he does look like he wants Kon to know what he’d just said is the truth.

And it is the truth.

For all of Kon’s research into Tim’s life, he still doesn’t know what’s fact and what’s playacting. He’s not even sure if any part of the man he met tonight was real.

Behind Kon, Alfred pulls the door open, and the cold of Gotham’s winter night floods into the heated car. Tim doesn’t even blink.

“I’ll keep in touch,” Kon says, slowly climbing out of the car.

Alfred closes the door for him, then gives him a smile “Have a good night Master Conner.”

“Thanks for the ride,”

Kon stands there in front of his building, watching Alfred get into the car and again and drive. He focuses on the car as it gets farther and farther away. He looks through the trunk of the car to see the back of Tim’s head, and then he looks through Tim to see the phone that’s in his hands again.

On it is a text from Jason Todd that says “The meeting’s tonight. Suiting up.”

For a long second, Kon considers what to do. He could follow them and learn more, and risk getting caught on camera; or he could stay behind, gain nothing, lose nothing. He knows what he wants to do, but he’s also sure it’d get him in trouble.

He closes his eyes, keeping an ear on the sound of the Aston Martin’s engine, and then, he zips back to his apartment, and grabs his black and red suit, the Kryptonian symbol of hope sewed lovingly onto its front.

It clings to his skin as he puts it on, stretches and contorts but doesn’t break. As he’s pulling on his boots he hears the Aston Martin’s engine stop.

 _It really was just in my neighborhood,_ Kon thinks. He grabs one of his leather jackets from his closet and pulls it on. His bare arms would probably stand out in a covert mission. It’s lucky that he changed his uniform’s color scheme years ago when Jon first started dipping his toes in crime fighting. The black that made him stand out against Metropolis’ grey office buildings makes him blend in in Gotham’s night.

He sweeps his hair back with his hand. No time to style it. Kon needs to think. Where in Gotham would be close enough to where Tim Wayne is, and not crawling with security cameras?

Suddenly the loud thrum of a gong echoes in Kon’s head, startling him into a curse. He hears it once, twice. It goes on for thirty long seconds before Kon realizes what it is.

Church bells.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the awkward interviews, I did my best lmao. Hopefully I get better at this. Thank you again for your comments and kudos and just your time!! I'm very thankful.


	4. High Priestess

 

 

 

**TIM**   
  


 

 

The worst thing about Jason’s apartment is the ever present cluster of paparazzi across his building. Cameras are flashing from the moment someone spots the Aston Martin approaching. The bright lights are muted by the tint of their car windows, just enough so that whoever’s driving won’t feel momentarily blinded by them. The swarm of photographers continue to close in until they disappear into the building’s underground parking.

Cass is waiting for them there, her arms crossed, wearing an expression that makes her look like she has her mask on. She gives Alfred a hug when he gets out of the car and helps him with the groceries and into the elevator which takes them straight to the top floor. There’s only four apartments in here, spacious three bedroom flats with living rooms that have skylights and tall windows that overlook either the Cathedral Square or Grant Park.

Jason hated it at first, but knew that it would be much easier to make an apartment like this into his own kind of Bat Bunker. People ask less questions when rich people do weird things in rich communities. An elaborate security system and tinted bulletproof windows don’t raise eyebrows here, they’re even (to a certain extent) expected.

Inside Jason’s apartment they find him standing in the middle of his living room, his Red Hood helmet in one hand, mask already on. To his right, projected on one of his many empty walls is a chart of names that Tim knows well, he made it when he started doing undercover work for the Falcone Case.

Cass and Alfred head straight for the kitchen while Tim goes to Jason, who hands him a headset. He puts it on and parks himself on the couch, settles his injured leg onto the coffee table before pulling the laptop to his lap.

As Jason pulls on his helmet he asks “What’s the probability of SB following you here?”

Tim thinks he might already be here, but in the interest of objectivity he says “90%”.

“Ah well,” he opens a hatch of what used to be a laundry chute but is now a slide that leads to an old tunnel system Wayne Construction built in the late nineteenth century. It was a discontinued commission from the city government that their great great grandfather continued building anyway for whatever reason. It’s not an entirely secret place, since there are public records of it, but as far as the rest of Gotham knows it’s just a spooky urban legend.

“I guess that’s just ‘within expectations’.” Jason makes quotation marks with his fingers and says the words in his best impression of Bruce.

“I’d say there’s also about a 40% chance he’ll try to help you.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Jason says, before disappearing down the chute.

Tim turns his attention to the laptop and brings up the feed for Jason’s helmet camera. He waits a couple of minutes before Jason turns it on as he’s mounting one of his bikes in the tunnels.  

“ETA at the rendezvous point is 22:45,” the engine of the bike roars into life.

Tim hears a soft beep and then another voice in the comm line. “I’m already on stand-by,” Steph says, muffled slightly by the sound of a strong breeze.

Tim pulls up the feed from Steph’s mask. She’s right in Port Adams, crouched behind what’s probably the huge metal chimney of the old Savini Shoe Factory, judging by the state of the rust on it. From there she’s peering down into the next building over, staring right at the back of the balding head of Sal Maroni who’s gesticulating wildly, hands flapping as he says his piece to an impassive Alberto Falcone.

“Please tell me that sound is just the wind and not your cape.” Tim mutters into his mic.

“I’m not you Red,” Steph whispers back harshly “the cape’s in the pack.”

“Just the wind then,” Tim zooms into the small window on Steph’s feed “Do you have any clue what they’re talking about?”

“Bertie over there told Sal he knows the Maronis were just framed for Dixon Docks.”

“And how does he know that?”

“Hell if I know, Sal just started going wild after that and hasn’t stopped.”

Tim brings his thumb up to his mouth “How long has he been doing this?”

“Around twenty minutes thereabouts, and before you ask, no, Bertie hasn’t said anything else, he’s just been looking at him like that this entire time,”

He bites the inside of his cheek, digesting the fact that Falcone thinks, no **_knows_ ** that the shoot out was a set up. It brings up quite a few questions, beginning with how in the world he would know that, when even they’ve barely managed to dig anything up. There must be clues they’re not understanding, things that would only make sense if you were Falcone.

“You listening Jason?”

A click “Yup,” Tim switches the audio output from his headphones to Jason’s speakers. The popping sound of the wind blowing against Steph’s mic and the steady loud hum of Jason’s motorcycle blend together.

Tim checks Jason’s location “You’re about to enter less crowded roads Hood,”

“Right,” Jason revs his engine “turning on the silencer in 3, 2, 1--” like a vacuum cleaner abruptly unplugged, the sound of the motorcycle disappears. What’s left is the sound of the tires against the hard rock floor of the tunnels, barely audible even to their hyper sensitive microphones.

“Falcone’s talking,” Steph whispers urgently “He’s saying something about showing a united front. He says he’ll continue on with the original plan and help Maroni look for who framed them,”

Tim looks back at Steph’s video feed, watches as Sal Maroni slowly slumps down into his seat, nodding several times at Falcone.

“He’s telling them to ‘leave it to us’, and that they’re free to kill whoever framed them.” Steph clicks her tongue “Now he’s saying, don’t get into a big fight.”

“I’m at Port Adams,” Jason announces, “making my way to Spoiler,”

“You still plan to storm in Hood?”

Tim’s finding that he might be against the idea now. It might be better to keep an eye on them first to figure out just what their plans are so they can shut them down completely.

“Depends on how much more they blab tonight,” the soft clank of metal can be heard from Jason’s line, and then a creak, loud as a rusty swing haphazardly being rocked back and forth by a preschooler, Tim cringes “What’s the security situation Red?”

Tim looks for the nearest security cameras. After five seconds he’s got eyes on every entrance.

“It’s light, one guard in every entrance.”

“Perfect,” there’s a soft clang as Jason seems to have reached the roof, the feed from his helmet shows him approaching Steph. “Prepare for Plan B.”

“What the heck is Plan B?” Steph asks him as he settles behind her.

“We kidnap one of Falcone’s footsoldiers and bring him to my safe house, preferably one of the newer guys,”

Steph looks back at Jason, looking as incredulous as Tim feels. “Are you insane? B will tear you a new asshole if he finds out.”

“Maybe so, but I get the feeling I don’t have the time to go about this like Matches Malone.”

Tim squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Let’s slow down a sec, Steph get back to lip reading, I’ll transfer your line to Cass while I talk to Jason.”

“Copy that,” she says, just as Tim redirects her comm.

“You gonna tell me off baby bird?” he can just hear Jason’s smirk.

“No,” Tim sighs “I think I know why you want to do this,”

Just the way this meeting is going tells them the Falcones have allied up with the Maronis. Wiseguy alliances are never a good thing, especially when they seem to have plans, long term plans that none of them picked up on until now. Either Tim royally fucked up on surveillance or only a select few in the families are privy to the plan. Tim thinks it’s probably both.

“This could get you killed though Jay, and I think there are too many disadvantages and ethical problems with locking someone up for a long time while you live their life.”

“I was thinking more on the lines of giving him a good job and home in another city,”

“Jason,”

He hears a sigh “Alright Red, here’s the thing. I won’t do it tonight, or even tomorrow, I’m not a total boob. I’m gonna gather intel on whoever’s driving for Bertie since that’s who I’m aiming for, and I want to be convincing. I’ll be looking for possible informants while I’m at it and try my luck by bugging the shit out of their cars. I’ll reactivate your old bugs too, see what I can get from that. That’ll take, two weeks? Three? If that doesn’t pan out, I’ll grab someone and replace him. If you’ve got other ideas, I’ll hear it. This is me being a very generous older brother because this used to be your case,” his voice dips low “But it’s my case now Timmy, and you’re benched, B’s already unhappy with me.”

“He knows huh?”

“Of course he knows, don’t kid yourself.”

Tim doesn’t reply, though he knows Jason will rightly interpret his silence as understanding. His thoughts are interrupted by movement in the corner of his eye. Cass walks into the room with two fingers pressed to her ear, her eyes are twinkling like she’s amused. Tim knows from the look on her face that Steph and possibly Babs are making a joke about him. She walks towards the wide windows overlooking the Cathedral Square, turns on the camera that Jason installed for maximum paparazzi heckling, and zooms in about ten times till the screen on the window only shows a hawk-like gargoyle on the Gotham Cathedral’s side. She points at the shadow behind it.

“We have a visitor,” she says, mouth twitching as she seems to fight a smile.

Tim knows that figure right away, studied too many pixelated photos of it to mistake it for anything else now.

“Well,” he switches audio feed back to his headset “I did say 90%.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**KON**

  
  
  


At the last minute, out of habit or some unconscious sense of foreboding, Kon decides to take his JLA issued communicator. He puts it on while he climbs his building’s fire escape to the roof, but keeps it switched off. Worst case scenario, he’ll use the voice command feature to transmit a distress signal, but he’s not counting on it. The more plausible scenario is that he’ll just end up ringing the Watchtower to ask whoever’s on duty for the least surveyed route back to his apartment.

He takes to the skies immediately as he sets foot on the roof. To someone looking out their window, he’ll look like a black blur, easily waved off as a bat or whatever other strange creature lurks in Gotham at night.

The air is thin and increasingly chilly as he ascends, it smells faintly of smoke and piss. The night sky is near pitch black but for the quarter moon and a sparse scattering of stars. It’s a typical night in a big city, not much different from Metropolis. There are more twinkling lights down below than up above.

Gotham Cathedral is easy to find. In this part of the city, the Cathedral Square is one of the only two dark patches in the blinding scape of night lights. Kon hovers over it while he scans the area for Jason Todd’s apartment. He scans the row of the apartments slowly, until he finds one where the Red Hood is very clearly standing in the middle of a living room while speaking with Tim Wayne.

Keeping his eyes on them, he settles himself behind one of the gargoyles and strains his ears to listen in on their conversation. The distance and amount of noise in the surrounding area make it difficult to pick up the sounds of their voices. By the time Kon’s zeroed in on them, the Red Hood is already long gone and Tim is having a one-sided conversation with his headset. Mostly, Tim asks questions. Without context, Kon can’t piece together what any of them really mean. There’s a moment where he seems to have a disagreement with his brother about kidnapping someone, Tim seems to lose the argument.

Kon doesn’t have time to be concerned because in that moment Cassandra Wayne enters the room and an impossible thing happens, she meets his eyes. He’s ready to dismiss it as coincidence but her gaze stays fixed. It’s only then, when it’s clearly too late, that he notices the camera.

The tiny red dot by Jason Todd’s apartment window is imperceptible to whoever isn’t looking for it. Even if he had seen it, Kon wouldn’t have thought that it could detect him until Cassandra started looking straight at him.

She slides her fingers across the window glass in much the same motion one would make to enlarge something on their phones. There’s a screen there, Kon’s sure of it, and it’s now showing a magnified version of the video feed, focused squarely on Kon’s location.

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of his neck as he adjusts from a squat to sitting on the cold stone of the cathedral. Tim Wayne doesn’t seem to be looking at him-- his eyes stay transfixed on his laptop -- but Cassandra’s told him that Kon’s here. They seem unalarmed by his presence, their conversation is hushed and amused. It seems it doesn’t matter to them what Kon does. No, it seems they’ve even planned for him. Tim is spewing statistics into his headset about the likelihood of Kon hearing their conversations and going to Port Adams to watch Jason Todd work.

Kon has no desire to go to Port Adams, he doesn’t think he’ll get much out of it. It might be better to just get closer to the apartment. They already know he’s here, might as well get fearless.

Cassandra Wayne’s eyes follow him as he gets up. To his surprise, so does Tim’s. He lets them stare as he surveys the surrounding area, cataloging possible spots for what’s turning out to be a night of mutual spying.

The buildings beside the apartment are high rise apartment buildings clearly meant for the rich and upper middle class. They’re either refurbished old buildings or (more likely) built to look like they are. On the surface they seem to be made out of brick and have mansard roofs with wide chimneys and tiny little dormers that, as far as Kon can tell, aren’t actual windows and exist solely for the aesthetic. In contrast to the intentional datedness of the outer walls and roof, the apartments have tall modern windows, those on the lower floors are sliding doors leading to balconies and those on the upper floors are tinted and tempered monstrosities that take up nearly entire walls. The skylights of the top floor apartments are similarly tempered and tinted to have the same color as the mansard roofs from the outside.

It’s exactly the sort of place Kon imagines someone rich and mysterious would chose to live. The sloped roofs make them unideal to station himself on, unless he uses his TTK, but it’s not as if his place here behind this gargoyle is that much more comfortable. To make the most of the fact that he’s already here, getting close is a must. The building to his left hand side is preferable since he’ll have a better view of what Tim’s laptop is projecting.

He can hear Tim and Cassandra bickering about why he stood up. They must be aware that he can hear them, which means that he’s probably meant to hear whatever they’re saying. Maybe they’re teasing him by feigning ignorance. He shakes his head, he shouldn’t let that bother him, no use being paranoid.

He flies to the ridge of the left hand building’s roof and balances himself on it with the help of his TTK. Neither sibling turn to where he is. Kon can see the projection now, Tim’s flitting back and forth between various camera feeds until he finds one that’s picked up Kon. He makes that window smaller and places it in the corner of the screen before clicking on another feed, footage of a bunch of tough looking men in suits talking to each other in what looks like a warehouse somewhere, probably Port Adams. A fat bald man flanked by two bulky men a head taller than him is making big hand gestures as the sallow looking man across him nods along.

Cassandra observes the projection for a moment then turns to Kon’s general direction with a small smile. “I’ll go back to helping Alfred,” she tells Tim “transferring Spoiler back to your line.”

Tim gives her a thumbs up as she exits the room and says “Where were we?” into his headset.  

Now that he’s closer, Kon can make out the voice from the headphones. The woman says that the meeting’s about to wrap up, and “Bertie’s just reassuring Sal now, guess that was all this was about.”

And then, a man, the Red Hood. “Bugged all the cars,” he says “tracking them too just in case.”

Tim starts switching across various video feeds again “A couple of Maroni’s bodyguards are headed your way Hood,”

“Ah dang, left or right?”

“Left, there’s a tunnels entrance down that alley by the water pipe,”

“Already climbing down,” the sound of something hitting metal, quick, evenly paced, probably feet hurrying down a thin iron ladder “SB still there?”

“SB?” Kon mouths. It’s a nickname he hears on the Titans comm all the time, but from the mouth of a bat it’s disconcerting. Mainly, he thinks, because he’s not quite sure if it’s just coincidence that they call him that, or if they’ve been listening in and cataloguing all their communications.

There’s a laugh in Tim’s voice when he says “He’s breathing down my neck.”

A low chuckle, and then, the sound of an engine “Kinky,” says the Red Hood.

Tim enlarges the window with the camera feed of Kon again, and it makes him sit up a little straighter. He tamps down the urge to hold up a middle finger just for kicks.

“Are you reporting to B?”

‘B’, the Red Hood says it in a way that made it clear it was a single capital letter. It’s the thing that makes it click almost immediately in Kon’s head that ‘B’ is definitely the Batman. Or maybe it really stands for Bruce Wayne, like a weird inside joke they throw around in uniform.

“Thought he already knew what I was doing here.” Tim says dryly.

Hood lets out an exaggerated snort “So I guess that’s a no,”

“It’s a maybe,”

“Wow, definitely a no,” the sound of the engine abruptly cuts off, but on the screen Red Hood still seems to be moving at a motorcycle’s pace within a series of tunnels. Kon wonders if he’s in the sewers, they’re a lot less disgusting than he imagined. Maybe the video doesn’t do it justice.

“Jason,” a voice Kon recognizes as Cassandra’s joins the conversation from Tim’s headphones “food’s ready.”

“I’m rushing, I’m rushing,”

“Spoiler,” says Tim, switching over to a video feed in Port Adams “you coming over?”

“For A’s food? You even have to ask? But uh, give me 20, gonna wait till they all clear out before I split.”

“I’ll set something aside for you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Tim removes his headset and places it on the couch beside him. He arranges the Port Adams live feeds so he can see them all at once, and places the one of Kon in the middle of the screen. From this angle, Kon can’t see his face.

He climbs down one of the slopes of the roof, until he’s at an angle where he can see the side of Tim’s face. On Tim’s screen all that’s visible of him are his hands, still gripping on the ridge on the roof’s apex, and, if you stare hard enough, the tips of his hair.

Tim’s rubbing one of his thumbs over his lips, staring at his laptop with glossed over eyes. He pays no attention to the images of men shaking hands and driving away in fancy cars being projected on the wall.  

Kon doesn’t know how long he sits like that, and how long he stares at him, but doesn’t move until Cassandra walks back into the room with a bowl of ice cream and two spoons. She parks herself next to Tim on the couch, and balances the bowl on her knees, offering him a spoon. He accepts it absent-mindedly, but then turns to her with a smile as they start sharing the sundae.  

This would be the perfect time to leave, Kon thinks. It looks like they’re just waiting for the Red Hood and Spoiler to get back, their night coming to an early end.

He resolves to leave when they turn the projector off, or at least, until he’s the only thing they’re monitoring.

The Port Adams surveillance cameras show no persons or cars. Tim starts closing windows leaving only the feeds from camera looking at Kon and the cameras which look like they’re on Hood and Spoiler’s person.

The Red Hood is still in the sewers and it looks like Spoiler’s followed him into them, riding a vehicle of her own. Except now that Kon’s getting a longer, better look, they don’t look like they could be sewers. There’s no running water, or a place where running water should be. It’s just a narrow passageway, barely wide enough to fit three people and barely tall enough to let people standing above six feet walk in them without crouching.

Kon entertains the thought that the Waynes built a tunnel system especially for their nightly activities, but that can’t be right. It doesn’t look like a tunnel from this century for one thing. It isn’t fitted with electric lights and the material the walls are made of reminds Kon more of the catacombs of Paris than of any modern subway or sewer. Of course, he’s no expert, he’ll have to look up Gotham tunnel systems later on. He doubts such a huge construction project would go completely undocumented, even if it was the Waynes who built it.

First, he’d like to see them for himself. He peeks at Tim and Cassandra, still eating their ice cream and quietly giving each other meaningful looks, then, hops down to the narrow alley between their building and the one he’s perched on.

He floats down gently, then looks down at his feet and underground. The first thing he sees are pipes leading down to a wide cavernous sewage system. At least, he thinks, this confirms that neither Red Hood or Spoiler are in the sewers.

He scans underneath the apartment building, and there, beneath the laundry room, parallel to the sewers is another tunnel. Quickly, Kon flies up, a good few meters above all the buildings. His eyes stay trained on that new tunnel and then when he’s high enough, he follows where it leads.

Or he tries to, because he can’t, it’s a dizzying maze with knotted twists and turns, Kon can’t tell where it ends or where it begins. There’s noone and nothing in it for miles and miles. It’s unused, useless, except the Red Hood is using it right now to get into his own home. He parks his motorcycle a short distance from the chute that goes from the building and into the tunnel, and then walks the opposite direction until he’s standing underneath the chimneys. He makes a punching motion above him, and down comes a ladder. Hood grabs onto it, but before he starts climbing, he looks up and salutes.

Startled, Kon’s hand flies to his comm. But the Red Hood does nothing more, just starts climbing the ladder. Kon’s eyes fly back to his apartment. All the camera feeds are closed except Spoiler’s. Tim Wayne stands underneath the apartment’s skylight, looking in Kon’s general direction, his hand on his ear.

Kon decides it’s time to leave.

When he gets home he googles ‘Gotham Tunnels’ and finds creepypasta page about a discontinued government commission for Wayne Construction to make an underground tunnel system for pedestrians. It dates the project back to 1889 and talks about people finding entrances to it and stumbling into hundreds of bones of the dead construction workers who were accidentally locked in when they shut the project down. Kon thinks that’s probably a load of bullshit and that the people this post is quoting have never been to those tunnels but the page does have a link to an archived New Jersey Supreme Court decision ordering Wayne Construction to stop building the tunnels. The pdf’s archived in the court’s official website so it’s definitely legit.

Kon looks up how to get court records in New Jersey but after reading through the instructions he decides it won’t do him much good. It doesn’t matter how W.E. defended their case, it matters more what happened after. Unfortunately unlike a court record W.E.’s records aren’t  something he can just get by filling up a form and paying the proper fees. He could, of course, just ask, there’s a white card in his wallet that makes that possible. But he’s not sure the answer he’ll get from that phone call will be what he’s looking for, and he’s not so sure hearing the lie would get him anywhere.

He lightly taps his touchpad with his nail and nibbles on his bottom lip. He’s read a lot on Wayne Construction but he’s never seen this project mentioned. Maybe it was cited in a book in passing and that’s why Kon can’t remember ever reading about it. That’d be understandable since it’s just a little blip in their history of enormous undertakings. If W.E. continued construction of the tunnels despite the Supreme Court order, it’s unlikely they’d have ever made an explicit public record of it. The proof, if there is any, would be in their financial statements and books.

If they have digital copies of it, he could probably call up Cyborg to help him hack into W.E.’s servers but realistically speaking, they probably don’t keep digital copies of their books from the nineteenth century and Cyborg probably won’t say yes to hacking the Batman. Kon hasn’t really read the JLA by-laws but he wouldn’t be surprised if Clark put a special “don’t meddle with Batman” clause in there.

Kon clicks his tongue, he’ll give up on this for now. He types ‘Falcone Family’ into his search bar.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**TIM**   


 

 

Jason watches the red blip of his trackers on the projector while he and Steph eat dinner. He’s got earphones on since he’s having O’s system read aloud one of his textbooks. Tim watches him double task while checking on the rest of the family on his phone. Damian’s in Chinatown with Abuse and Dick’s on his way home from his shift. Bruce is--

Bruce climbs out of the chimney as if Tim’s thoughts summoned him into existence. He says nothing, just silently creeps into the room and starts watching the trackers. After a beat, Jason takes off his earphones.

“Did O brief you?”

Bruce lets out a low hum in reply. He hasn’t taken off his cowl.

“And what do you think?

“That your plan is reckless,” he says it slowly as if waiting for Jason to react, Jason doesn’t “but it might need to be.”

Steph gives Tim a sideways glance, an exaggerated look of disbelief on her face. Tim shakes his head at her. He’s sure Bruce noticed the exchange, but it goes ignored.

Jason looks a bit smug, in the way that one tends to be when the Batman actually agrees with you. But the expression is fleeting and quickly replaced with a more somber one.

“I will phone my Maroni contacts,” Cass announces to the room.

Bruce nods at this, as if to say “Good”. Then he removes his cowl and asks, in a brighter voice: “Is there food left?”

Alfred appears right on cue with a hot bowl of chicken congee and hands it to Bruce before taking the empty plates in the room.

Bruce sits on the empty space beside Tim, he scoops up some of his congee and blows on it. He lifts it to his mouth, but instead of eating it he turns to Tim and says “Aren’t you supposed to be grounded?”

Steph chokes on her soda. Jason slaps her back hard.

“I don’t remember that conversation,”

Bruce smiles into his spoonful of congee. After he gulps down a mouthful he sets down the bowl on the coffee table next to the laptop and pulls up the audio from Jason’s bugs for everyone to listen to on speaker. As Alberto Falcone’s voice fills the room, Bruce lifts his bowl back up and blows at another spoonful.

“How soon can you have him visit?” they hear Alberto ask, and then a long pause before “Can you make it sooner?”

No one needs to say it out loud, it’s clear he’s on the phone. There another long silence before Alberto talks.

“I don’t care how much it costs, I’ll pay for it, just get the boy ready Johnny.”

“Johnny…” Jason stage whispers. Tim wonders if he’s thinking the same thing, that he needs to get the names of the Viti loans, figure out which of them is ‘the boy’.

“Ah,” Alfred says as he walks into the room, wiping his hands on a clean dish towel “I see Master Bruce has switched on the family entertainment system.”

“It’s been a real hoot,” Steph grins as Alfred takes his seat beside her.

“Just get it done!” they all tense as Alberto shouts, then relax as he lets out a deep audible breath “Sorry, I’ve had to deal with Maroni tonight. I’m a little high strung,” a beat “Yes, yes alright, that’s fine. I’ll keep in touch. Take care of yourself Johnny.”

“You wanna go see Sheila boss?” another man’s voice, the driver maybe.

“No,” Alberto’s voice is strained “no I’m afraid I promised the missus I’d be home tonight. It’s Antonio’s birthday tomorrow.”

“Alright boss, just tell me when.”

Steph turns to Tim “Who’s Sheila?”

He shrugs “First wife turned mistress,”

“Is it appropriate to say I want the story there?” Steph grins.

“Inappropriate,” says Jason “but totally understandable. I’ll send you the file.”

Steph places her hand on Tim’s knee “You made a **_file_ ** on Bertie’s s--”

“I wanted to be thorough.”

“It’s something we can use against him, when the time comes.” says Bruce “I’d have done the same.”

“Surprise, surprise.” Steph drawls under her breath.

Bruce doesn’t seem remotely bothered by the remark, and Tim envies him for it. It can be annoying sometimes how Bruce has no qualms about invading other people’s privacy (including his own children’s), but in their line of work it makes him efficient. Tim has spent most of his life trying to adapt Bruce’s methods, to become a detective who can fill in his shoes. But sometimes he feels uncomfortable in his skin when he thinks about just what sort of data he’s been collecting.

He knows that when Steph makes fun of him for being anal about his research, she’s not actually criticizing him; that if she needed a picture analyzed pixel for pixel, she would go to him and trust him to scan each and every square until he finds what they need. She makes fun of him, he knows, because she likes this about him. But it bothers him sometimes, if he’s really too much.

“I’ll have to change my priorities,” Jason scratches his head, he looks annoyed “gotta look for this boy first, seems like he’s key to part of their plan and he’d be our best bet at getting an idea about what the hell’s happening here. You got any contacts in Chicago that can talk to the Viti B?”

“Mmm, I’ll make some calls, but I doubt we’d get anything useful.”

“I just want to be able to say ‘hey at least I tried!’, I’m not looking for any miracles,” Jason stretches, cracks his knuckles over his head “I’m sure you’re all thinking it, if Bertie’s asking Johnny to take care of this personally, we ain’t getting anything from their thugs or the moneyed brats on their payroll.”

What was unsaid but understood is that this goes to the top. Jason’s Plan B is becoming more practical than reckless. The alternatives weren’t any less enticing. Damian could pretend to be a bored rich boy interested in dabbling in some crime but Damian’s never been good at undercover and they’ve all been too publicly anti-mob for such a thing to be believable. They could sneak in and bug Falcone’s office, but Alberto isn’t that stupid, he knows to conduct important business somewhere less predictable (something Tim knows for a fact because he’s tried bugging his office more than once), that’s why he met with Maroni in a Port Adams warehouse he doesn’t own. Everything Tim can think of has demonstrable downsides. He thinks Bruce has similar conclusions, it’s probably why he’s just letting Jason chose his favorite bad idea.

Bruce sets his bowl back on the coffee table, having emptied it “I’ll leave it to you to judge whether we should have a general meeting about this.”

Jason nods “Don’t think it’s going to get to that level, but we might need to call Kate to be ready to break me out just in case.”

“I’ll call her,” Bruce stands up and puts his cowl back on, like a switch, his voice changes, loses any trace of playfulness, becoming the stale even baritone of the Batman “I’ll be doing a stakeout in Black Mask’s territory, if you have something to tell me, tell Oracle.”

“See you soon B,” says Cass.

“Mmm,” B climbs into the chute, and disappears.

  
  
  
  


 

**KON**   


 

 

Kon spends the night in an uneasy sleep. He wakes up periodically, out of breath after dreaming of Batman stuffing his face with a handful of Kryptonite. In the end nothing happens, nobody shows up to his apartment, not a shred of any consequence to getting caught spying.

Tim Wayne really didn’t report him. He wonders if he should try his luck with this and run with it. He knows that Lois would, but that Clark would slow down, be more cautious. His heart is leaning towards copying Lois, but his brain knows Clark’s caution better suits the fact that he’s Superboy.

He thinks about the business card in his wallet. Would it be crazy to take Tim Wayne up on his offer to show him around? Since they’re pretending not to know each other he’s sure the offer still stands. The gala’s tomorrow though, so he’s probably busy. He’ll ask him after the weekend, maybe he can talk to the family about it first at Ma’s house.

That leaves him with a free day. He could use it to start writing his article about the gala, but he’d hate to scrap it when he inevitably gets ideas while he’s there tomorrow. It’s better spent on some research related sightseeing. Interviewing someone from the police or city hall could wait till he’s done with his society page piece, since they’re heavy duty stuff.

Today, he thinks he’ll eat lunch somewhere nice. He pulls up the message board with a list of restaurants Alberto Falcone allegedly owns, and starts looking for the closest one on google maps.

 

 

 

 

  
  
**TIM**

 

 

 

He reads the e-mail from Babs after a meeting with his party planner. He’d received it in the middle of the meeting but ignored his phone’s incessant beeping in favor of getting his day job over with. When he finally unlocks his phone, he sees a single encrypted e-mail that says “unexpected visitor” in Babs’ code, with a single attached video.

Tim locks himself into his office before he plays the video. It’s slightly grainy security camera footage of a restaurant Tim immediately recognizes as one of the Falcone’s. Casually, as if to taunt him, a bulky man in a Metropolis University letterman jacket walks in and gets a table for one. He pauses immediately and calls Babs on his comm.

“Is he doing this on purpose? Why is he doing this, does he **_want_ ** me to report him to B?”

“Well why don’t you report him?” Babs replies in her own voice, not Oracle’s, she’s put Tim on her private line. Not considered urgent then.

“I don’t think it’s Superboy that’s spying on us, I think it’s investigative reporter Conner Kent. I think it’s for that Gotham article he’s writing, mentioned it in my file about last night.”

“So you’re saying he’s just trying to get a feel of Gotham, by spying on vigilantes, dining with its elites and eating in restaurants owned by the mob.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying yes.”

Babs chuckles “Well I don’t get the feeling he’s up to anything sinister either so I’ll leave you to it. This report says you gave him your business card though, are you planning to meet up with him as Tim Wayne again?”

“Multiple times if possible, I’d like to gather more data and control the contents of that article if possible.”

“I doubt you’d be able to manipulate Lois Lane’s son into writing the article you want.”

“I wasn’t planning to manipulate him,” Tim scoffs “convince him maybe.”

“Of what? Gotham City’s sparkling credentials?”

“Gotham’s bright future.”

“How very Brucie of you,” Babs snorts “although on a serious note, that sounds like a good idea. Give him something to write about so he doesn’t write about, well, other things.”

“That was the plan,” he presses play on the video again. Conner doesn’t do anything special, only orders his food and eats quietly while fiddling with his phone. The only strange thing about it is how long he stays, the video has the running time of fifty-five minutes. “Do we have an audio of this? An angle where we could zoom in onto his phone?”

“No to zooming in on to his phone, yes to the audio, but you won’t be getting anything juicy off of it, he just ordered his pasta, ordered dessert, asked for his bill, then left.”

“Any chance this was just a coincidence?”

“I very much doubt it, he had to pass at least three other Italian restaurants on the way there and one of them has much better reviews than this place. If he was craving Italian again why wouldn’t he go where the food’s better or at least somewhere closer to his apartment? There aren’t any major landmarks nearby nor anyone or anything who’d be of particular significance to him so it only makes sense that he’s in the area specifically for this restaurant. The fact that he wasn’t in any hurry to leave means this wasn’t just a pitstop either. If he was there for that specific restaurant, the only possible reason for that is he’s seen the rumors about it being Falcone owned.”

Tim bites his thumb “Could you hack his phone to confirm that?”

“Could I? Sure. Should I?” Babs sighs “I’d say no.”

“JLA issued firewalls huh,” Tim clicks his tongue “guess I’ll just have to poke around when we meet again. You think he saw the bugs?”

“Unlikely, though I can’t really confirm that, you’ll have to do it. Take him out to one of the other Falcone joints and check.”

“Right,” he nods to himself “right I will, thanks for the heads up Babs. Should I tell Jason or does he know?”

“He’s in class but I already dropped him a message, he should get it in an hour or so.”

“Great,” Tim slumps into his office chair “alright thanks again.”

“Oracle out.” says Babs, before the line gets cut.

He unpauses the video. After a few minutes of nothing, he skips to the end to right before Conner leaves the restaurant. After he asks for his bill, he sits still, his phone is pocketed, and his head tilted in such a way that you can tell he’s looking at what’s in front of him, or perhaps he’s spacing out. Tim can’t see his face because of the camera angle. All he can see is his back and the top of his head. It’s the only time he’s lifted his eyes from the table, before that he’d always been looking down on his phone or the menu. Tim wonders if he’s looking through the walls into the kitchen. He’s certainly in the right vantage point for it.

He probably left disappointed. These restaurants are fronts for the mob, but the kitchens are nothing but kitchens. The manager’s office might have a few incriminating documents, but for the most part, these restaurants serve as meeting rooms ready to be reserved at a moment’s notice.

Then again maybe disappointed isn’t quite the word to use here. All of Tim’s interactions with Conner Kent indicate he is a person who lives the expression “nothing ventured, nothing gained”. This may be par for the course so far as he’s concerned.

His door clicks. He hears an indignant feminine grunt from the other side, and then it clicks again.

“Have you locked the door Timothy?” he hears Claudia say.

“Uh,” Tim disables the electronic lock on his laptop “No?”

The door clicks again and this time Claudia’s able to open it, she’s looking very cross as she walks towards his desk.

“Your door needs to be unlocked for emergency situations,” she says, handing him what appears to be his schedule for tomorrow.

“You have the override code,” Tim says as he pretends to scan his timetable.

“I would rather not shut down our entire security system because you want some privacy to watch a youtube video your brother sent you.”

How scarily close to the truth, Tim thinks. They’re lucky Claudia’s a lot like Lucius. They’re smart, and that’s why they don’t want to know.

“I’ll make sure to keep it unlocked next time, or maybe I’ll just give you the key.”

Claudia shakes her head “Pushing that aside, as requested, here is the seat plan for tomorrow’s gala.” she hands him a USB.

“Thanks,” he says, already plugging it into his computer. As he pulls up the pdf Claudia asks if she can start going over his schedule.

“Sure,” Tim says absently, pressing control+F and searching for Kent’s seat "Before that, is my party planner still in the building? I have a request."

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit shorter in terms of word count but I had to end it there. Next up the Wayne Foundation Gala. 
> 
> This and the previous chapters may get edited more in the next few weeks (not so much the content, but if I do edit some scenes, I'll talk about it in the next chapter's notes).
> 
> This one is largely unedited for now and I'm sure I'll spot many embarrassing things later lol, sorry.


	5. Achilles on Skyros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah my last year of law school is kicking my ass way harder than I thought lol, thus the really long interval between the last chapter and this one. I also have no idea when the next one will come out, but the semester's about to end SO hopefully I'll have one or two more chapters out before the year ends. 
> 
> A lot of the new named characters here based on characters that already exist in some version of DC canon (animated series, versions of the comics etc.) with a few exceptions. 
> 
> As always I've reread this just once so I might have missed something, haha.

**TIM**

  
  


The morning before any big party, Claudia has breakfast with Tim at the Manor carrying with her a file on the attendants. She brings two binders, an old one from her days working with Lucius, and a newer one that she started when she got transferred to Tim. In the old binder, a concise introduction to Gotham high society, in the new one, the new generation of Gotham socialites Claudia insists they need to invite, and a short list of people Tim feels need a place in his all new brand of Wayne parties.

Claudia treats their reviews like a child’s first vocabulary lesson, displaying the pictures like flashcards and asking him to identify who’s on it. Tim often wonders if she was like this with Lucius, or if it’s an honorary nephew privilege.

After his morning sessions with Claudia, Tim usually does a few more reads of whatever speech he’s making and then has lunch with the family. Bruce is always there, prepping his facial recognition contact lenses for the typically brief but significant appearance he makes at these parties. Jason is always there making fun of Bruce’s contact lenses. Damian’s always there defending Bruce’s right not to recognize “those insignificants”.

The others come and go based on their schedules. Cass is there more often than not, exchanging looks with Tim every time the contact lenses debacle is inevitably brought up again. Duke comes when school is not too hectic, and often finds himself dragged into the contacts argument as the middleman who thinks they’re both incredibly stupid and incredibly practical. Dick is usually busy with work these days, but when he does come, he tends to go back and forth between making fun of Bruce with Jason and defending Bruce with Damian.

Today the usual suspects are present, arguing about the usual nonsense, but midway through the meal and the rising tension between Jason and Damian, Kate enters the room in boots and a leather jacket.

Damian’s on his feet immediately, sweeping his legs at Kate’s, only to miss as she easily hops over them. He follows it up with an attempted uppercut which she catches and uses to maneuver him into a choke hold.

“Better,” she says, releasing him.

“Tt,” Damian sulks back to his seat “stop smiling Drake.”

“Me?” Tim raises an eyebrow, feeling his lips pull up higher.

“You got my message,” Bruce nods “good.”

Kate puts her hand on Jason’s head, “So it’s this kid that needs bailing this time?”

“He might,” Bruce's hand shakes as he tries to put on a contact “another undercover mission.”

“I’m planning to drive for Bertie Falcone,” says Jason “but I’ve only got a couple more weeks to prepare.”

Kate’s face twists into a frown. A quick look around the room shows Bruce and Alfred’s carefully neutral faces and the deepening creases of Damian’s forehead.

“You can’t be his driver, that’s too close,”

“I need to be close!” Jason turns to Kate, her hand falls off his head with the movement.

She looks down at him, crossing her arms “I’m not a fucking miracle worker, if you’re going to be that close, I’d need to be that close too to extract you. Have you got an identity for me?”

“I’m working on it alright?”

“Well good, but if you can’t get me one, forget it. Don’t do this thing.”

Jason sighs, covers his face with his hands. When he removes them, he glares at Bruce “Did you fucking know this would happen Bruce? Did you agree to my plan knowing she wouldn’t?”

“I considered that she wouldn’t but I don’t have her expertise, so I agreed based on my own.”

Kate snorts “You mean being reckless?”

“Assessing what risks are necessary.”

“God,” Jason groans “that’s worse.”

“Just think of all the times you wanted to scream your dad’s head off for nearly getting himself killed and this’ll be easier to accept.”

“Well what the hell am I supposed to do then? We can’t exactly use anyone’s old identities that’ll be even more dangerous, I need someone sniffing around the Fal--” Jason stops, eyes lighting up “Wait a minute, the clone.”

Bruce drops a contact and curses “No,” he says, in a voice close to Batman's. He puts his contact back into the cleaning fluid.

Kate looks back and forth between them “Am I missing something?”

“Todd wants to manipulate Superboy into getting the information we need from the Falcones.”

“Well I’ve got some questions, but all in all that doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

“No,” Bruce repeats, harder this time “we’re not using him.”

“Bruce is right,” Tim interjects “it’s too risky. We can use my informants instead, see if we can get something for Kate that way,” he looks straight at Jason, willing him to stand down.

Jason’s visibly chewing on the inside of his cheek, “Alright we’ll talk about it later,”

“Sleepover at my apartment after the party, you coming Kate?”

“Never,” she says, slipping into a seat at the table “I’m part of the skeleton crew for the night, and I always hated those parties anyway.”

Alfred’s there like he just came into being out of thin air, bringing Kate a plate of the chicken steak they’ve been chowing down on.

She gapes at it “Were you expecting me Alfie?”

“I’ve learned to prepare for any number of unexpected guests,” he sets down a glass of water for her “and if not everyone comes well then, all the more for me.”

“You really are too good for this world,” she cuts off a piece and groans in satisfaction as soon as it hits her tongue “So Brucie I hear you’ve invited Pam and Harley to the wedding.”

Bruce, who had renewed his attempts at putting on his contacts, drops one again “Where would you have even heard of us inviting them?”

“Harley wouldn’t shut up about what she’ll wear for ‘Cat’s wedding’ last night while I was stopping a bank robbery.”

“Was she the one robbing the bank?”

“No, she was there to help me if you’d believe it.”

Tim was inclined to believe it. Harley’s a wild card. A good person all things considered, but prone to bouts of mischief.

“And she just mentions this casually out of the blue,” Bruce says slowly “names?”

“She used Bat and Cat, you don’t need to worry about it,” Kate grins “worry about the fact that you and Selina tend to call each other that out of uniform.”

Damian shakes his head “Father, I will have to agree, you and Selina have been careless. You let your hormones get the better of you.”

Tim desperately holds in a snort, uses a hand to cover his mouth and conceal his smile. Bruce is getting lectured about hormones by a teenager. Even funnier, he’s looking thoroughly admonished.

“I will keep that in mind,” Bruce turns away from the conversation, and busies himself once again.

Kate holds out a fist for Damian to bump. Damian returns it while raising his chin.

“So,” she says, shoving another piece of chicken in her mouth “give me a rundown of everything I’ve missed.”

  
  
  
  
  


**KON**

  
  


When Vicki Vale was still new to the Gazette, she wrote an article saying that the Wayne Gala was like a cult. The party, she said, is nothing more than a horde of tittering nobles and nouveau rich dressed to the nines, wagging their meticulously groomed tails in an attempt to impress the Waynes into looking their way. And then when the song birds got the attention they craved, they threw their money at them in the guise of donations, hungry for more attention. She called it a ridiculously posh and pretentious black tie event for the rich and desperate, masquerading as an act of philanthropy while it spends more than it earns. The Waynes are picky about their press, Vale said, because nobody in their right might could watch this on tv and think it’s doing the world any good.

Kon “grew up” on her articles. The Kent household tended to discuss them a lot since Lois and Clark saw a lot of the Wayne party scene. They had respect for Vale’s critical eye but their fascination with the Waynes often outweighed it. When Clark used to cover the gala, he’d rent a tuxedo a month in advance and would spend at least an hour skyping with Ma trying to get his hair right. Kon remembers one time when he was in high school when it took almost two hours of coaching for Clark to finally be satisfied. Compared to that, getting his Superman hair right only takes him only a few seconds.

He wakes up early the day of the gala to make his last minute preparations. While he’s ironing his shirt, he gets the e-mail from Waynes’ party planner that says: “Dress Code: Business Casual”.

Kon’s spent the past hour wracking his brain about what it could mean. What sort of message is Tim Wayne sending by telling people only on the day itself? Is he trying to equalize all his guests by avoiding the glittering night gowns and well pressed tuxedos? Is he trying to be mean by saying it only after everyone’s already spent their money? Is he trying to be the cool hip younger Wayne by being unpredictable? What in the world does ‘business casual’ really mean?

“You’re maybe overthinking this one Kon,” Jon’s skyping him from Titans Tower in what looks like Jai West’s room, judging from the JLI poster on the wall “And it’s business casual don’t stress over your outfit too much.”

“Dude, I’ll be meeting people there who I’ll have to deal with for the rest of my stay here, I don’t want to be that guy with a creased shirt who doesn’t know how to put on a tie,” never mind that the last part was totally true “Hey does this look right?”

“I’ve never worn a tie in my life,” Jon says, deadpan.

“What about at Ollie and Dinah’s wedding? Weren’t you wearing a bow tie?”

“Clip on, and even if it wasn’t, that wouldn’t make me an expert on regular ties,”

“Bow ties are regular too,”

“You know what I mean, stop teasing,”

Kon grins, redoes his tie for what feels like the hundredth time “Maybe I should just go without the tie, that’d still be business casual right? Button down with slacks?”

“Well I don’t know what business casual really means but I’m googling it now and you should probably just wear denim jeans with that button down and put on one of your blazers,”

“Don’t wanna look too much like a stock photo model,”

Jon snorts “Wouldn’t that be better than broadcasting the fact that you’re a journalist?”

Kon throws the tie aside and grabs his darkest pair of denim jeans from his closet, “I’ll probably be at some media persons’ table anyway, everyone would know.”

“Ok let’s put it this way, people might be more willing to give quotes to good looking reporters,”

“You know I hate doing things like that. Besides what if someone recognizes my butt? Superboy’s ass is always a hot topic you know.”

“That’s just cause you used to wear jeans as a uniform and they kept getting destroyed when we had to fight giant aliens or something. That shot of your bare ass in the middle of that Dhorian invasion three years ago? Iconic.”

“I’m just glad a GL was nearby to give me some construct shorts before someone got a pic of my dick.”

“Oh yeah, who was it again?”

“Gardner, he gave me booty shorts as a joke but I looked amazing in them and was front page news, so joke’s on him.”

“Karen says Tora has a picture of it framed in their apartment, Guy gets mad just thinking about it.”

“Since when have you been gossiping with Power Girl?”

“Since always, the JLI used to babysit me.”

Kon inspects himself in the mirror. The blazer’s a little loose on him, a hand me down from Clark.

“What do you think?” he twirls for his phone camera “Too Clark Kent?”

“Wasn’t that the goal?” Jon rubs his chin “Eh, it’ll do,”

“Thanks,” Kon shakes his head “couldn’t be any more reassuring.”

“If you wanted real advise, you shoulda called Ma.”

“Well there’s kinda something else I wanted to talk about that you’re slightly better for.”

“Woah superhero stuff?” Jon’s eyes widen “Why not dad then?”

Kon picks up his phone from where he’s propped it up on his desk,so that the camera now frames just his face “I kind of maybe spied on the Waynes as Superboy and I kind of maybe got caught.”

“You…” Jon gapes, mouth flopping around soundlessly for long moment “the JLA is gonna kill you.”

“Technically, they’re not allowed to do that unless I’ve gone rogue, and I mean let’s face it, even then--”

“Dude, the Batman provisions of the JLA charter are like, basic. Even I know them and I’m not even a bench member yet.”

“I didn’t forget about them alright? I just didn’t think I’d get caught?”

“Good lord,” Jon puts his hands over his face, he sounds like Clark “you’re becoming more like mom every day.”

“That’s high praise,”

“Ha!” Jon grins “Touche. Why call me first though?”

“Thought you might be able to cushion the blow, since you’re basically the JLA’s baby. That’s how you convinced everyone to let you fill in for me with the Titans yeah?”

“I resent that,” says Jon “But I’ll talk to dad and then maybe Aunt Diana so they’ll back you up when it comes to it.”

“Knew I could count on you,” Kon grins “wish me luck lil dude, I’m about to mingle with people who are pissed at our family.”

“Just a regular old weekend then,”

“I wish,” Kon snorts “the whole bat clan might be there.”

“What, you think they’ll give you trouble?”

“For Superboy? Nah. For being a Kent? Maybe.”

“Guess the only thing worse than an alien meta is a reporter,” Jon smirks “you better get a good quote out there!!”

Kon laughs and gives him a thumbs up “Count on it,”  
  
  
  
  


 

**TIM**

  
  


“I just don’t understand why you chose the worst party dress code on earth,” Duke pulls open another drawer of ties and inspects them intently, curling his mouth in distaste “A Wendy the Werewolf Stalker tie Tim? Really?”

Tim holds his hands up defensively “It’s a nice tie, I don’t know why you all hate on it.”

“When do you even wear this thing,” Duke shakes his head, runs his hand over a silk plain yellow tie “I’m taking this one, least you can do after not telling us you’re making the dress code business casual.”

Tim runs a comb through his hair, sweeping it back neatly, “That one’s a gift from Steph, you can borrow it for the night though.”

“What about this one?” Duke holds up another tie with black and yellow stripes.

“Yeah you can have that one, but bumblebee colors? **_Really_ **?”

“You have no right to judge me,” Duke points at him “at least I have taste.”

“Whatever,” Tim huffs “this is why I hire a stylist anyway.”

“You rich kids hiring all these people for simple tasks.”

“Duke, you literally have a trust fund now,”

“But do you see me using it?”

“How do I look!?” Dick walks into the room, beaming, and wearing the same blue polo shirt and black slacks he wears to every business casual meeting they’ve ever been to. He’s even folded the shirt up to his elbows again. He looks annoyingly, effortlessly good.

“Like a damn God,” Duke says, sounding a little bitter “See Tim, if we looked like that, we could get away with outfit repeating too.”

“Aww hey, you’re both handsome,”

Tim shares a look with Duke. Maybe that was true, but they didn’t look like this after rolling out of bed, Dick did.

There’s a knock on the open door, Damian’s standing there, one hand still poised to knock and the other on his hip. He’s got a black vest over a black dress shirt, a little too formal for business casual but Tim knows this is the most casual Damian’s ever going to get for a Wayne event.

“I’ve been told the guests are starting to arrive,” he says “father suggests we get in the car. He and Cain are already there.”

“And Jason?”

“He says he prefers to be fashionably late,” Damian face looks undecided between annoyed and amused “he and Brown are planning to arrive after the program begins. Now hurry up, we still need to fetch Selina.”

“Shouldn’t she be moving in soon?” Dick asks, as they make their way to the garage “I know the wedding’s still a few months away but that’s just a formality for the rest of the world isn’t it.”

Damian glaces back at them, “It was one of my mother’s conditions that they start living together only after the marriage,”

Tim wondered if Talia was just being petty. He can’t think of a practical reason for it. If not for Damian, he doesn’t think Selina would have even followed such a condition.

Dick puts his arm around Damian but it falls off with a rough shrug. Staring at the back of their youngest, Dick sighs softly. Duke pats his arm as he and Tim pass by.

Bruce and Cass are quietly sitting inside the limo when they get to the garage, both of them stoic. Alfred’s already in the driver’s seat, dressed more formally than all of them put together.

The inside of the car is spacious enough that all of them can sit comfortably without their elbows bumping, but Bruce insists that Tim elevate his cast so he ends up sitting in a corner with his leg on Bruce’s lap. Everyone looks like they want to make a joke at Tim’s expense, but Bruce looks so earnest he doubts they’ll have the heart to. He doesn’t have Tim move even when Selina arrives. Selina on her part just smiles at them approvingly and then starts telling Damian about yet another cat she’s adopted. But as they enter the lot of Wayne Enterprises, Tim lifts his leg off of Bruce’s lap.

He can guess the order of things from here. Alfred will open the door for them for appearance’s sake, and Bruce will always be the first one to alight. Tim thinks he does it to distract the press from everyone else. Since Selina’s here, Bruce will probably help her out of the car. Usually, the rest of them get off at random, but when one of them’s been in the tabloids for an injury or anything else, they usually get off last.

No matter how much they try to control the press at the gala, the moment the step out of the limo they’re always greeted by a barrage of lights. They have to pretend that they don’t notice anything and do their best impressions of runway models -- good pictures are newsworthy, but they aren’t shared around the internet quite as much as bad pictures are. If they look annoyingly perfect and get featured in celebrity and fashion news articles, at least they'll float out of public consciousness within the day instead of weeks or months of circulation as a meme. 

Bruce and Selina step down from the car arm in arm, immediately starting a brisk pace towards the Wayne Tower elevators. Dozens of reporters ask them questions simultaneously, each of them trying to scream louder than the other. The two of them shout back teasers about the wedding, vague and infuriating tidbits about Selina’s dress and the ‘beautiful location’ that nobody knows about yet. Duke and Damian trail behind the two of them, both studiously ignoring the overload of stimuli forcing their way into their spaces. As Dick and Cass help him maneuver out of the car, Tim spots Conner Kent observing everything from the edges, eyes trained right at the center of the storm.

He doesn’t approach them for the entire trek to the elevators, nor does he ask any questions, but he makes his way through the crowd in tandem with them, and nods politely when he sees Tim making direct eye contact.

The moment the elevator doors are closed Duke says, “Looks like SB’s more like his dad than his mom,”

“That remains to be seen,” says Damian.

Bruce reaches over to fix Damian’s collar “It’s probable that Perry White warned him to be careful,”

Grinning, Selina adds “It’s too bad, I like Lois. Sure you don’t want to lift the ban Damian?”

“We cannot show tolerance towards such inappropriate questions,” Damian tuts “though I will admit I prefer her to most other reporters.”

“We’re almost at there,” Tim warns “no more code names, that means you BatCat.”

“Scolded by baby bird number three,” Selina giggles into Bruce’s ear “Is this what our forever’s gonna be like Bat?”

Bruce’s mouth twitches “Are you backing out Cat?”

“Oh darling,” Selina’s Gotham Heights accent is a work of art “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the elevator slows down to a halt, everyone inside it transforms. His is a family of theater kids, raised on Alfred’s opera nights and Bruce’s shifting personas. At home, they’re themselves, anywhere else, whether wearing the skin of a vigilante or a socialite, they’re what people need them to be.

The doors open. Tim smiles for the crowd.

  
  
  
  
  


**KON**

  
  


Kon knew the moment the Waynes got into an elevator, the handful of reporters who got an invite would scramble for one of the others. Using his powers in public and in Gotham of all places would normally be a fool’s act but in this sea of extremely distracted people pushing at each other, Kon maneuvers himself with his TTK towards the nearest elevator and manages to get into one as soon as the doors close on the Waynes.

The trip up the tower is fast, but Kon wishes he could climb up a set of stairs to make it faster. If only climbing in through the fire exit of the penthouse wouldn’t land him on some tabloid.

He gets a feel of the elevator mechanism with his TTK, tests the strength of the material to see if he can speed it up just enough that he gets to the penthouse right before the Waynes.

He thinks of what Clark would do, what Lois would do, and realizes that in this instance, they’d both probably take the risk. Clark’s not above abusing his powers for a story, and Lois definitely would if she could.

His decision made, Kon moves the elevator car up in increments until he’s just a couple of inches above the Waynes’ elevator. Proving that Wayne Tower is a marvel of engineering (and that Kon could probably perform brain surgery with his TTK), nothing breaks.

He steps off the elevator, a few seconds before the Waynes step out in graceful concert led by Tim who’s all smiles and already shaking hands. He’s followed closely by the future spouses Wayne-Kyle, already whispering something amusing to each other and secluding themselves in their own unapproachable little world. The other Wayne children are pulled in different directions, welcomed warmly by the voracious crowd.

Cassandra Cain glances Kon’s way as she’s greeted by a woman Kon recognizes as the District Attorney Janet Van Dorn. He tries not to show the surprise on his face, but judging from her smile as she turns away, he fails.

Kon decides it’s not the time to fight for a word with the Waynes, he’s seen what he’s needed to see from their entrance. Carefully keeping them in his peripheral vision, he starts surveying the room. The spacious penthouse has been stripped bare, most of its walls have been torn down to create a spacious function room with a makeshift stage. There’s a wide bar on one side serving drinks and a buffet serving an array of canapé in the other.

Kon looks for his name on the cards on the tables by the back of the hall, where he knows the press are usually stationed for he gala. He misses it the first time in his hurry, and is about to go through everything a second time when someone grabs him by the shoulder.

He nearly jumps, but tamps down the urge at the last second.

“Mr. Kent,” a familiar voice, it’s Tim Wayne’s assistant “your table is to the front of the room,” she gestures to its general direction, and Kon spots Vicki Vale glaring a hole into the card in front of her. There’s no one else at the table yet, probably because they’re still on their way up.

“Oh man,” Kon groans-- out loud he realizes, when Claudia gives him a look. Thankfully, she doesn’t give any further comment before Kon shuffles his way to the front of the room.

Vale doesn’t look up as Kon approaches the table, but just as he takes his seat she makes eye contact. Kon doesn’t know what to do.

“Hi,” he says, for the lack of anything else to say.

“You’re from the Planet.” she says “The Kent boy.”

 _“As opposed to the Kent man?”_ Kon wonders, then replies “Yup, that’s me.”

“Well I’m sure you know who **_I_ ** am,” Vale crosses her arms over her chest and leans back on her chair “are you here because of your mom’s misstep?”

“I wouldn’t call it a misstep,”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t either,” Vale snorts “she never did have a knack for the Gothamite mind games.”

Kon’s not sure what she’s implying, “She’s straightforward,” he says “honesty, it’s a virtue.”

“I never said it wasn’t, but this is Batman’s Gotham, not Superman’s Metropolis. Nobody gets quotes by being straightforward.”

“You do,” he can’t help but say, sounding a little petulant.

She sighs, shakes her head, “That only works on this crowd, if you’re planning on becoming the Gotham correspondent, you’ll have to get creative on the ground.” she narrows her eyes “Although, judging from your previous work, you seem to have a talent for it at least.”

“Well,” Kon coughs, shrinking under her gaze “Thank you.”

“It’s mysterious really,” she says, voice dipping low, thoughtful “sort of like your father with all those exclusive Superman interviews.”

Kon doesn’t know what he’s going to say if she asks him for his secret. He’s half afraid he’ll just blurt out that he’s Superboy.

“Mom has exclusive Wonder Woman interviews too,” he immediately regrets talking about more of his family’s superhero connections.

“Yes they do so much work with the Justice League, it’s adorable,” her face doesn’t look like she means that.

A man with a camera pulls up a seat beside Vale, “This is crazy!” he says, as other people fill in the seats around the table. They give Kon a cursory greeting, barely acknowledging him in favor of marveling at their seats “How are we sitting in front!?”

“Joey, calm yourself,” Vale snaps “To answer your question, I have a feeling Tim Wayne has taken to the new Daily Planet correspondent.”

All eyes are immediately on Kon, all of them suddenly alert of his presence, he shrinks lower into his seat.

“Hey,” one of them says, pushing his face towards Kon’s “You’re the Kent kid! Tim Wayne beat you up once didn’t he?”

“Uh,” he shakes his head slowly “nope,”

“Stop twisting stories Ty, he just got dragged out” says the woman beside Kon, who then holds out a hand to him “Summer Gleeson, pleased to meet you.”

“Conner Kent,” he shakes her hand firmly.

“So, Conner,” Joey unfurls the table napkin, but doesn't put it on his lap “how was your first dinner with Tim Wayne?”

“Was it awkward?” Ty quips “I mean, because of how you met and stuff.”

Summer rolls her eyes “You know Tim Wayne isn’t the type to act petty. He’s a gentleman, he’ll fake a smile any day.”

“Speaking of,” Joey lifts his camera up to face the stage “look who’s being a gentleman at the podium,”

The dull sound of a finger tapping on a live microphone resounds in the room and all conversation lull into quiet murmurs.

“You can just tune this out,” Ty whispers conspiratorially “he never says anything good.”

“They’re lovely speeches,” offers Summer.

“Boring,” Vale adds more candidly “Intentionally not newsworthy,”

“Classic Wayne kid,” Joey snaps a picture “I miss when Brucie would get drunk and swim in the fountains,”

“Oh but didn’t he start changing when he dated Vicki,” Summer titters “then it was just one serious relationship after another.”

“Really?” Kon wants to listen to Tim, really he does, but this pattern has never occurred to him. He wonders if it’s occurred to Clark.

“There’s no story there,” Vicki says decisively “we dated for a few months, he started dating Silver St.Cloud almost immediately after we broke up,”

Ty leans into Kon’s space again “Vicki won’t tell us what Brucie’s like in private, won’t even write articles about him anymore, just his kids.”

That, Kon did know. His eyes move to the podium where Tim Wayne’s talking about how much trust he has in Gotham and its people and all the inspirational drivel you would expect from someone running for office, except--

“He looks like he means it doesn’t he,” says Summer, as if reading his thoughts “I think he does actually,”

“Of course he means it, all of them do,” Vale sighs, sounding oddly disappointed.

“At least they walk the walk,” Joey puts his camera down and turns back to them “I mean look at him standing there like his leg’s not in a goddamn cast, those bone fixing machines must work great.”

And Kon’s got a quote on that, he hopes Vale doesn’t detect his smugness.

“Well they’re helping people up on that hill I’ll give them that, been talking to some of their former boarders at the Drake Home and they’ve all got jobs now, alright apartments too,” Ty scratches at his beard “It almost feels like things are looking up for Gotham.”

He really wants to ask what the ‘almost’ in that sentence means, but in a table like this it’s better to hold your tongue and listen.

“But then there’s Arkham,” Ty sounds rueful “and the mob. But there ain’t anything the Waynes could do about that, so I’m alright with this making our hospitals better business.”

“Well, Richard’s in the force, that’s something,” Summer’s fiddling with her table napkin “I hear he’s one of the best on their forensics team, good at everything from toxicology to odontology.”

“Brucie’s lucky his kids are so smart,” Joey chuckles “I mean, can you imagine if they were all like him? His heart’s in the right place, but this way he can just throw his money at their projects and snuggle up with his fiance.”

It’s surreal to hear people talk about Bruce Wayne like he’s a complete fool. He’s always looked calculating to Kon, every public faux pas a red herring to distract from his brilliant mind, every foppish move a new layer of skin to hide the Batman. He forgets sometimes that Brucie is all everyone else knows of him.

Vale is quiet, but nobody else at the table seems surprised. Kon wonders if she’s mum about Bruce because she’s seen the real him. He can’t imagine Vicki Vale dating the man Wayne pretends to be.

Thunderous applause brings him back to reality and to Tim Wayne waving at the crowd. As the hired host introduces the band and tells everyone to wait for their wine and entrées to be served, Tim walks towards their table. Everyone around him tries to act natural, but Kon’s sure anyone can tell they’ve grown a little tense.

Tim stops behind Joey and rests his body on one crutch, “How are you all liking the new press table?”

“What I’d really like, is to know why you put us here.” Vale says it like a challenge.

Tim smiles at her, amiable “I’d rather you focus on what we’re trying to achieve than on who’s attending.”

Summer sits up straight “Is that also why you made the dress code business casual?”

“No Miss Gleeson,” Tim laughs “I just want everyone to dress like I do, everyone seems more relaxed too don’t you think?”

People in these things always look relaxed to Kon, but he hasn’t been to a lot of society events. Maybe they just look relaxed compared to how he feels.

“How is your first Gotham party so far Con?”

From the corner of his eye Kon can see Summer mouthing the nickname. He doesn’t dare look at anyone else at the table, just focuses on Tim and replies “I can’t say yet.”

“Well, you all let me know if you need anything,” his words address everyone present, but he’s only looking at Kon. There’s no way no one else has noticed. Tim Wayne is singling him out.

“A copy of your speech maybe?” Joey jokes.

“Done,” says Tim “even though you never do anything with it anyway.” his gaze goes to something in the far side of the room, Kon follows it and spies Jason Todd stepping out of an elevator with Stephanie Brown. “Excuse me, I need to go fetch my brother,” he says, just in time for a waiter to arrive with a cart to ask them if they want the duck confit, the bouillabaisse or the ratatouille.

As he’s serving them their choices Summer, with great urgency in her voice, leans towards Kon and asks “How did you get him to call you a nickname? I’ve been Miss Gleeson for **_years_ **.”

“I just asked?” he can’t help the uncertainty “Seemed fair since he wanted me to call him Tim.”

They look at him like he just accidentally used his heat vision.

“Well, I’m just gonna enjoy my duck,” Ty tucks the napkin to the front of his shirt “and not comment on that.”

“Either the kid’s a genius or,” Joey gives Summer a meaningful wide-eyed look, which she mimics in return.

Kon figure’s it’d be weird not to ask at this point, “What are you talking about?”

“Did he give you a white card?” Vale looks like she knows the answer to her own question.

Somehow this feels like a trick, still, Kon chooses honesty, “Yes he did,”

“Either he knows you’re writing Perry’s dream project,” she says slowly, smug “or his type of man really is the broad-chested boy next door.”

Kon doesn’t have time to stew in shock about the fact that she knows about the job Perry gave him and that she thinks he’s Tim Wayne’s **_type_ ** before--

“I wouldn’t say Harper Collins is a boy next door type,” Summer interjects “except for the part where the Collins estate is the property nearest to the Waynes in Gotham Heights.”

“Ah, but that was a fling!” Joey raises a finger knowingly “Javi Garcia was the only one to ever get called a ‘boyfriend’. And he definitely fit the bill.”

Javier Garcia, the mayor’s nephew, tall broad shouldered model who’s done campaigns for Burberry and who also has a Philosophy degree from Princeton. His other claim to fame is that he's Tim Drake’s college boyfriend.

“There were rumors about him dating Luke Fox too,” Ty adds “but that pretty much died out when Luke was seen eating out with the Commissioner’s kid.”

“He was too old for him anyway,” says Summer “and I just couldn’t see Tim trying to get with his ex’s brother.”

“Anyone capable of discernment knew that,” Vale waves a hand dismissively, Ty’s face pinches “the point is, I wonder if ‘Con’ over here is another ‘Javi’.”

Kon doesn’t blame them for latching onto the juicier possibility, but “I told him about Perry’s job for me.”

Vale clicks her tongue. Ty, Summer, and Joey visibly deflate.

“Aww that sucks,” Summer pouts “he’s just wooing you so you make Gotham look good.”

“Just when you thought you had a story,” Joey’s shoulders droop “Why did I ever expect something exciting from Tim Wayne?”

Kon can hear Clark’s voice in his head. _‘If they don’t expect anything from you, they won’t notice what’s staring them right in the face.’_ He wonders what Superman would think about the fact that the bats are taking a page from his book.

Vale picks at her ratatouille lazily, looking bored of the conversation now that Wayne love affairs are off the table.

Kon hides his smile in his wine. He and Jon weren’t around for the years Lois didn’t know about Clark, but seeing first hand how you could steer away even the most vicious single-minded reporters from your well kept secret by boring them is really amusing. He wonders if Clark got Lois this way, by being unbearably plain and dorky that she couldn’t imagine him being this god-like creature from another planet. Well, in the end she fell for both sides of him before she even knew.

“There’s something weird about it though isn’t there,” Ty’s still chewing his food “I mean, can anyone really be that nice? Is Jason really the only kid that misbehaves?”

“He’s in med school,” Vale laughs bitterly “he’s not misbehaving, coming to parties late with your girlfriend in tow is just,” she grimaces “young love.”

Kon chokes on his drink “Girlfriend?”

“Oh they deny it, and maybe they aren’t together but they’re also in it for life.”

He wonders if asking what that means is a stupid question.

“And if anyone’s interesting, it’s Damian,” Summer holds Kon’s hand “I really admire how your mom just asked him to his face by the way, we all want to do it.”

“Um, thanks?”

“But a word of advice,” Vale points her fork at him “tell your mom never to do it again, we don’t ask the Wayne kids about their parents.” She stabs her ratatouille, the sound of metal hitting porcelain makes Kon flinch “Unless it’s Bruce and Selina.”

“I thought they said Damian’s mom is alive, just private?”

“We never saw the kid smile those first few years since Brucie introduced him,” Joey shrugs “he’d been living with his mother until then, connect the dots Kent.”

“Right,” Kon frowns, sobered “guess I need to think about the possible landmines huh?”

“Not too much though, still want to get the juicy stuff, right? Just not, you know, at the expense of the kids. Leave that to TMZ." she must see something in Kon's face because she adds "Don’t worry Con, they all get it eventually. It’s harder to learn not to step on some Arkham resident's toes but don’t feel too bad, a lot of Gothamites can’t master that either.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he tries to smile, and he probably succeeds somewhat, since Summer smiles back.

He looks across the room where Tim’s now talking to the mayor, and downs his wine.

  
  
  
  


**TIM**

  
  


Diane Garcia is talking to him about his ex again. You would think the mayor would be all business with him, but since he grew up celebrating holidays with her, he guesses personal conversations and setting him up was the priority.

“Diane, you know why I can’t, Javi’s nice but he’s just not--” he waves his hands outwards.

“Part of your world?” Diane snorts “Tell me Timothy, exactly who **_is_ **. If you keep limiting yourself like that all the options you’ll have are just Luke and Tamara Fox. You can’t just wait for someone like Selina to drop into your life. Now if Bruce reconsidered--”

“You know he won’t,” Tim sighs “and we really shouldn’t be talking about this here.”

“Oh come on, who’s listening? They all think I’m talking to you about how to convince the city council into putting your tech in state hospitals.”

“And we _**should**_ be talking about that?”

“We both know we can strong-arm them into anything especially if the optics are this nice,” she looks so sure of herself, Tim finds he can’t refute her “Now, about your dad’s ‘rules’.”

“What do you want me to say, that I’ll talk to him about it? You know as well as I do that it’s not going to happen. He won’t even get mad, just sit me down and explain to me again why this is better for everyone.”

“And what if the world was ending? What then?”

“Then we’d leave it to the Justice League and hold the fort here at home,” Diane’s shaking her head, Tim stops her with a hand on her arm “we know the world’s bigger than Gotham, but we’re spreading ourselves thin as it is.”

“That’s why I’m saying it would be nice if you kids all had someone to share it with,” she puts her hands on Tim’s cheeks “Darling, some things you can’t share with family, especially when you’re you,”

“And **_now_ ** everyone knows we’re having a non-business conversation,”

She lightly slaps him on both cheeks before letting go, “You can change the subject all you want but someday you’ll have to face it. Even Bruce is a little more honest with himself these days,” she puts her arm around his waist, a subtle effort to support him, he allows it “now, take me to my seat while you tell me why the press table is suddenly right next to the podium,”

“Oh that little thing,” Tim allows himself a small smile “it’s a long story,”

“Does Bruce know or do I have to act surprised again when he finds out?”

“Definitely act surprised,” no use in denying Bruce was going to find out, the only question with him was when, not if “I’m sure he knows something’s up, but I’d rather he not know till it’s over.”

“I don’t understand why you break so many rules but stick to that big one,” she sighs “I suppose I **_am_ ** glad to see you enjoying yourself though, is the new reporter that interesting? He’s Lois Lane’s son isn’t he?”

“And Clark Kent’s,” Tim always gets a kick from how everyone always forgets Superman “He’s that reporter I threw out of the Drake Home once,”

“Oh then he **_is_ ** interesting,”

“As much as the Lane-Kents tend to be yes, he’s writing a big piece about Gotham so he might try to contact you sometime soon,”

“And what do we tell him? The truth or half of it?”

“Surprise me,” he grins “ah, here’s your seat,”

“Janet hello!,” she de-attaches herself from Tim and leans in for a hug “I was just having a bit of a word with Timothy,”

“Yes I saw,” Janet returns the hug and pats Diane’s back, she glances at Tim “Mr. Wayne.”

“Ms. Van Dorn,” Tim nods politely  “Diane if you’ll excuse me,”

“Oh right yes,” she waves him off as she takes her seat “go on, do your thing,”

He makes his rounds, giving his greetings to every table before finally plopping down onto his own seat, flanked by Claudia and Cass who are just finishing their dinners. Damian sits across him next to the empty seat Duke’s supposed to be in but that he’s vacated to sit with some Gotham U big wigs who’ve asked to see him.

“Tell me they’ve got some bouillabaisse left,” he says to Claudia.

She gives him a look before flagging down a waiter “The dish I had saved for Mr. Wayne,” is all she says, before the waiter rushes to fetch it.

“You know me so well,” he lets out a shuddering breath. A waiter attempts to serve him wine “No thank you, just water please.”

“Has father left yet?” Damian grinds out “I need to be done with this immediately,”

Claudia looks like she’s trying hard not to smile, like Damian’s still a baby saying silly things after all these years “He and your lovely bonus mom are still feeding each other food,”

“Tt, foolishness,”

“It’s cute,” says Cass “they’re lovely.”

“Perhaps they’re also trying to distract from Drake’s injury, they aren’t this unbearable at home.”

“Well, there certainly are less murmurs about our seat plan changes,” Claudia throws Tim a sharp look “you might consider thanking your father when you get home Timothy.”

“Why did you put them in front?” Cass asks, her face makes it apparent that she’s been going through all of the possible reasons and found none that made sense.

“Come over to my place later, we’ll all talk,”

“I will head back to the manor first, but expect me sometime tonight,” says Damian.

Claudia wipes her mouth with her napkin. “A sleepover with the whole brood?”

“Richard will likely have to go back to work,”

“Oh, that’s a shame, it’s what happens when you’re the best at what you do I suppose.”

Tim eyes meet Damian and Cass’. If Claudia catches it she pretends not to.

“You should finish your food fast Timothy, they’ll want you sitting on stage for when the auction starts,”

Tim stares down at the reddish stew of his bouillabaisse. “Do you guys have mints?”

“Of course,” Damian pulls out a pack of breath freshening strips out of his pocket and puts two on his tongue “I’m appalled that you didn’t.”

“Sorry, guess I wasn’t thinking while I was making sure all of this went alright,” he grabs the pack snippily.

“Clearly,” Damian sniffs “you lacked foresight.”

Tim knows him well enough to know he’s just exaggerating, but he also knows him well enough to see that this is specially catered to annoy the hell out of him.

He drinks as much of the stew as he can in one go then shoves two pieces of fish into his mouth. He chases it down with his glass of water.

“I’m bringing these with me,” Tim shakes the pack of breath strips in front of him before pocketing them.

“Please,” Damian gestures towards the direction of the stage “you need them more than I do,”

Tim rolls his eyes “I’ll see you all later,”

Cass puts a gentle hand on his arm “Good luck brother,”

“Thanks sister,”

  
  
  
  
  


**KON**

  
  
  


Half-way into the auction, Kon understood completely what Vicki Vale meant in that article of hers all those years ago. He wasn’t sure if anyone even wanted what they bought. Sure here and there you could see someone genuinely overjoyed by their purchase but half the time the buyer’s attention was on how happy any of the Waynes were about how much they spent and donated to the cause.

He did notice a couple of tables which Damian and Cassandra seemed to be paying special attention to, full of young people who seemed as out of their depth as Kon. But for the most part, ‘tittering nobles’ seemed more and more apt. By the end of the night, Kon was just ready to go home.

“You’ll get used to the feeling of emptiness,” Joey reassured him “although I’ll admit I saw some interesting things tonight which I’m gonna reserve judgement on.”

“Yeah, it’s the first time he had free reign,” Summer shrugs on her coat “I guess we’ll see,”

They exchange contact info while queueing for the elevators. Chatting about the all nighters they’ll have to pull to get their articles done by morning (something which Kon hadn’t considered, but now realizes he’ll have to do).

It’s nearly 10:30 by the time they all manage to get to the bus stop. WE’s set up free shuttles for everyone who didn’t come in a limo, all set to take them back directly to their homes. The drivers have carefully planned routes that’ll end at their own homes, the guests just have to look up which bus they needed to get on.

“Should I find it creepy that they know where we all live?”

“Hey, anyone who’ll give me free rides and who also won’t murder me can have my address any day,” Ty finds his name on the list “Aha! Bus 2, I’ll be seeing you people. Sooner than later I’m sure.”

Summer kisses him on both cheeks “Bye Ty,”

“Goodnight Tyler,” Vale says, almost fondly.

“Don’t get mugged!” Joey shouts with a wave.

Ty raises a middle finger to wave back.

One by one they get on the buses. Kon ends up on the same bus as Summer who lives four blocks away from his apartment. The whole ride back she’s vibrating excitedly and texting someone on her phone.

When Kon finally gets down at his block, he heads for a convenience store for some instant coffee and snacks. Back at his apartment, he changes into something more comfortable, then plops onto his desk and boots up his laptop.

 _“Now,”_ he thinks, looking at a blank word document _“how to start?”_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was just so much to establish for the future lol. Hopefully another world building chapter won't be too boring. There'll be more of the BatFam and more of the Kents too next time. And either more Kon+Tim interactions or more mafia cases stuff, or both, depending on how things go when I finish the next chapter. Which will be... whenever my schedule allows hahaha.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's commented I really really appreciate it. Just, thank you to everyone who's been reading this haha, I appreciate you all.


	6. King of Cups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Kon both get advice, and follow it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess at this point I should give up on any real update schedule. Will be editing this chapter and chapter 5 (which I hated after rereading it but anyway) while I write the next one.
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO HAS COMMENTED AND GIVEN KUDOS I LOVE YOU ALL.

**TIM**

  


 

As the Red Hood, Jason keeps several motorcycles upgraded to prioritize speed above all else. As Jason Todd, he favors leisurely day rides spent in maximum comfort. He drives a Lexus with overhauled cushions replaced with specially made memory foam, for Tim and his injured leg, there is no better mode of transportation. He has his cast propped up in the backseat, lets his head rest against the window, eyes shut as he waits for the paracetamol to kick in.

The warm orange hue of the setting sun colors his face as they drive through the streets lined with low rise buildings. It’s one of the older parts of Gotham, the Clocktower stands proud and tall right in the middle of it, outwardly blending in with the old.

Steph’s sitting shotgun dancing much too enthusiastically to a lo-fi tune Tim can’t name. He can feel her move through the bounce of his seat. And despite the too-loud-for-his-headache volume of the radio, Tim hears Jason’s hushed giggling.

“Steph, I’ve got a headache,” he knows it comes out a whine but he also doesn’t particularly care.

“Awww poor baby,” she coos, dripping with insincerity “don’t worry we’re almost at the Clocktower, we’ll tell Babs all about your bad idea and then maybe she’ll feel bad for you and agree to it.”

“It’s Babs, she’ll agree,” Jason turns down the volume “I mean can you imagine the look on B’s face if this works out? Worth it for that alone.”

“I’m not doing this to make fun of Bruce,” Tim grumbles, reluctantly opening his eyes “It’s just the easiest and least dangerous method,”

“Easiest? Yes. Least dangerous?” Jason squints “Eeeeeeh, not so much.”

“ **_You_ ** brought it up first I don’t understand why we’re acting like it’s my idea,”

“I was thinking about threatening him with the kryptonite ring not this elaborate wine and dine thing you got goin’ on,”

“And how is that any less dangerous!?”

Steph rolls her eyes “He’s joking, he was going to ask you to do this anyway,”

“Stephanie!” Jason gasps “You of all people? Ruining my fun?”

“Well Tim looks like he’s about to throw up, we can only go so far,”

“Alright, alright,” Jason makes a turn and Tim can feel it in his gut, damn this headache “we’re here anyway, text O that we’re headed up will ya Stephie?”

“Already done,” she waves her phone at him “I love how nobody ever questions how O lives here,”

“Well, her wikipedia page says Dickie gave it to her back when they were together and nobody’s ever denied it so,” Jason shrugs.

“Better to let them create their own stories,” Tim massages his temples “that way they’d believe it and all we have to do is not deny anything and keep track of the canon,”

Jason sounds like he’s choking on his own saliva “The canon,” he repeats incredulously “Jesus Timmy, warn a guy,”

The Clocktower’s fully customized for Babs’ needs. At the moment, this is very much to Tim’s advantage. Much of the parking space is right in front of an elevator. It opens automatically for them as they approach. Tim climbs in first, rests his body against the back of the elevator as it takes them all the way up to Oracle’s working space.

He expects Babs to be waiting for them when the doors open but she’s at her desk speaking with Huntress about what sounds like a raid the GCPD’s conducting in Birds of Prey territory. It takes an unfortunate second for Tim to realize Dick’s also chatting with them on the main video feed.

“Are those my little brothers and your little eggplant walking in Babs?” he asks, teasing. He’s still in a lab coat sitting in what looks like--

“Are you on a **_toilet_ ** wonder boy?” Jason smirks “I mean, it could have waited till you had your pants up.”

“Har har,” Dick rolls his eyes “I was on my way to get some coffee when I overheard some of the detectives talking about a raid, didn’t see it on the agenda as of last night so I had to tell Babs, it’s probably not in the PD system yet,”

“It wasn’t,” Babs confirms “It was probably decided in the emergency meeting they had this morning, they’re probably relying on the element of surprise so it’ll be need to know,”

“Except Grayson overheard it so thank god for idiots in the PD,” Helena deadpans. Tim hopes she doesn’t really mean that but one can never tell.

“Anyway I need to get back to work, Chey’s probably wondering why I’m taking so long,”

Jason salutes him with two fingers “Say hi to her for me,”

“Update me O,” Dick says, ignoring him “I’ll be in touch,” he cuts the line after Babs’ answering nod.

Helena turns to Jason, arms folded “Didn’t you meet Cheyenne as Red Hood?”  

Jay grins “It’s just something I say to get a rise off goldie,”

“So,” Babs gives them her full attention “are you here about your little sleepover last night?” the smile on her face tells Tim she already knows exactly what this is about.

“Either you listened in,” he says slowly “or Damian’s already told you,”

“You did only make him swear not to tell B, reasonably sure Kate knows now too,” she tilts her head “Are you alright not sitting?”

“Probably better if I do,” he admits.

Babs barely turns to Steph before she says “On it,” and opens one of the lockers in the room. She pulls out a folding chair and places it beside Tim.

“Thanks,” Tim lets himself get helped into the seat but keeps eye contact with Babs “Can we trust you not to tell B then?”

“Oh definitely,” she smiles, lazy and saccharine “it sounds both fun and productive to me honestly, and it isn’t technically violating any of B’s guidelines. I am wondering how you’re planning to do this though,”

“The tricky bit is meeting up,” Tim admits “luckily I already gave him my personal card, but since we’re pressed for time, waiting for him to call me might be a little problematic,”

Babs’ eyes flick to the space behind Tim, where, no doubt, Jason and Steph are trying not to laugh themselves sick. “Oh Timmy,” she says “You’re not…?”

Tim sighs “I am,” there isn’t really any other way, and everyone in this room seems to know this judging from Babs’ pitying look, Helena’s grimace and the sniggers he can still hear coming from behind.

Tim is going to have to go to him, to play up his interest and eagerness to entertain. He’s going to have to break his amiable professional persona in favor of a more approachable self. He’s going to have to act like **_Brucie_ **. His teeth grind together just thinking about it.

“Well if you’re going to visit him at his apartment,” Babs says, pulling up an aerial view of what Tim recognizes is the Kent farm on one of her screens, “I’d advise that you hold off till tomorrow, I don’t think he’s in Gotham today,”

Tim leans forward and inspects the image, there’s someone on the porch with graying hair who seems to be looking straight into the sky. “Could you zoom out?”

She smiles, shaking her head “He’s not there you know,” still, she does as he asked.

The picture’s a little grainy, but a lanky figure in a red hoodie and what looks to be jeans is floating in the air, looking down towards the only other person in view. His hair obscures his face but it’s not difficult to tell who it is. There’s only one teenage Kryptonian in the world after all.

“They’re so careless,” Helena all but growls “how is their identity the world’s best kept secret.”

Jason chuckles “You sound like Bruce,”

Helena turns to him sharply “God forbid!”

“Hey if you can’t handle the truth it ain’t my fault,” even as he goads her on, Jason lifts his arms in a sign of surrender.

Steph’s grinning toothily in his direction, “You’re so annoying,” she says, sounding more affectionate than anything else.

Helena glares at them before setting her sights on Tim, startling him to sit up right. “I have a few objections to your plan, the biggest one is how there is no possible way you could fool him into thinking you have no other ulterior motives for seeking him out,”

Tim nods, he’s well aware of it.

“And I don’t understand how you hope to get the information that he’d manage to obtain, unless you plan to speak with him as Red Robin too afterwards to make some sort of deal, and at the moment, that’s physically impossible,”

More grudgingly this time, he nods again “I’ve taken all that into account,”

“He thinks Superboy is going to volunteer the information,” Tim turns to Steph, and he knows he must look betrayed because she looks faintly apologetic.

Helena takes a moment to think on that pronouncement, while Babs looks like a lightbulb just flashed in her head.

“It’s not foolproof, but a reasonable assumption,” Babs she taps a well manicured finger impatiently on her desk “I think it would be very interesting to see you take the risk, but since we’re not doing this for my personal entertainment, I would suggest bugging his cellphone too, he seems to bring it with him even as Superboy, we may at least pick up some interesting audio, and I think it’s even more likely he would talk to a member of his family about what he finds.”

“How would you get around the JLA firewalls?”

“I wouldn’t have to, we’re only looking to get his audio, and the bug wouldn’t be interacting with the device,” she opens a drawer and pulls out a small velvet box. She presents it to Tim, opened. In it, stuck to a cushion, are two tiny clear sticks, half the size of a needle. “It’s made of nanotech, just shove it in one of the holes of his phone’s speaker.”

Tim accepts it, letting himself inspect the devices with slack jawed awe. He can sense Jason and Steph hovering over his shoulder.

“Did you say yes just so you could test your new toy?” Jason sounds like he suspects the answer is an affirmative.

Babs gives no immediate verbal reply, only smiles again in that knowing way of hers, which is enough of an assent to everyone present.

“Wait to see if he calls tomorrow or later tonight,” she says finally “if he doesn’t, show up at his apartment saying you were passing by and wondered if he would like to have dinner again. Use his article on the gala as an excuse. I don’t think you’d need to go full Brucie until he gets suspicious. Well,” she shrugs “more suspicious.”

Tim smiles at that, “Maybe **_you_ ** should be the socialite,”

Babs laughs heartily and Jason shudders. “Let’s not give her any ideas,” he says.

Steph laughs too “I think it’d be awesome she’d be much better at it than any of you,”

Babs looks inquiringly back at Helena, who shrugs and says, with undisguised disdain: “Too disturbing for my tastes,”

“I suppose I’m sticking to my book club then,” although she’s putting on a show of being disappointed, Babs is clearly entertained “I did have to do the socialite thing you know, once upon a time I was dating your brother.”

“And we are glad you’ve come to your senses,” Helena flicks Babs’ forehead lightly, smiling fondly at her in a way she never does for anyone else.

“Poor goldie hasn’t had a serious relationship since you though,” Jason pretends to wipe a tear from his eye.

Babs and Helena share an amused look. “I see,” Babs says, voice even. Jason seems to read this as awkwardness over an ex-boyfriend but Tim looks over to Steph and finds that she too seems to be puzzling over Babs and Helena’s initial reaction. Something to look into on a later date.

“I’d appreciate it if you helped me keep B in the dark about this,” though the Birds abided by some of Bruce’s rules, they aren’t as constrained to follow them all the way the family is. Babs tends to see them as suggestions more than anything.

“My lips are sealed, as are Helena’s,” she grins “and since you’re officially un-benched, would you like to join me here for the patrols?”

Tim would tackle hug her if he could, “I’d **_love_ ** to.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**KON**

  
  
  


By the time he gets to the Kent farm that Sunday Kon’s got panda eyes and is barely keeping them open. Ma takes one good look at him and shoos him off to the couch for a nap while everyone else finishes up dinner preparations.

Kon only means to close his eyes for a moment but when he opens them an hour has passed and he’s tumbling onto the carpet floor.

He scrambles into something which in his mind is a combat position, crouching to face the nearest heartbeat only to find Jon grinning at him from behind the couch.

“Are you trying to do a Wendy the Werewolf Stalker impression? Because this is a really bad one.”

“I thought I was getting attacked,” Kon stands, pulling down his shirt “And I do a damn good impression of Wendy’s fight scenes don’t listen to anything the twins tell you.”

“Why would Jai even know that?” Jon fixes the alignment of the couch with one hand, eyes still on Kon “Why would **_Irey_ ** know that?”

“That’s a mystery for **_you_ ** to solve,” Kon breathes in and smells Ma’s spring chicken and a tomato based pasta, judging by the amount of cream cheese, probably a lasagna “Is that dinner?”

“Yeah they’re just about to put everything on the table, so they told me to wake you up.” Jon moves to his front, quick enough that only Kon’s own heightened senses help him not to jump “You still look real tired, Perry give you a hard time?”

Kon shakes his head, “Haven’t heard from him yet,”

“So it’s the suspense that’s killing you?”

“Not exactly,” he yawns “I just had a hard time writing the article, it was kind of hard to put everything I wanted to say in it without making it incoherent.”

“If you’re like this about a society page article, you’ll be a wreck for the big one.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Kon gives him a light shove by the doorway “I’m already worrying about it.”

“What are you worrying about?” Lois head perks up a she slices through what Kon now sees is definitely a lasagna “Did Perry not get back to you yet?”

“Nope,” Kon pulls back a seat for Ma, she smiles brightly and thanks him as she takes her seat.

“He’ll publish it,” Clark reassures him “if there was something wrong with it, you’d know by now. He’d tell you.”

Lois puts a slice of lasagna onto Kon’s plate “Are you worried because you think you did a bad job?” she asks “Or did you write something controversial?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s controversial, I just worry it’s a little…” he’s unsure how to continue and looks up at Lois hoping she’s already figured it out somehow. She hasn’t.

“A little what?” she presses, though not impatiently.

“Pro-Wayne.”

Her eyes widen before she shares a look with Clark. When she turns back to Kon surprise has given way to curiosity, “Now how did that happen?”

Kon clears his throat, “I guess I have to start at the beginning,”

“You mean when you got caught spying on them as Superboy?”

Lois’ chair skids as her entire body swivels to face Clark “He **_what_ ** ?” Kon thinks she might across the table to grab his shirt “You **_what_ ** _!?”_

“Oh dear,” Ma wipes her mouth with a napkin “Conner honey, they’re not targeting you now are they?”

Kon swallows “No, because Batman doesn’t know.”

Clarks puts his utensils down “Now that’s something Jon didn’t tell me,”

“I didn’t tell him the full story, I wanted to tell you all about it in person,”

“But you also wanted to make things easier with the JLA,” Lois looks like she wants to scold Kon but her interest in the story’s winning over any maternal instincts “So how could Batman not know? He knows whenever Clark flies a little too close to Gotham.”

“From what I understand, his kids decided to keep it a secret from him.” he rubs his hands on his jeans “I mean they knew I was watching, they said so outright, even looked in my direction, but then at the gala, they all acted like nothing happened mostly, and there’s kind of uh--” he pulls out his wallet from his pocket “Here it’s better if I show you,”

He sets Tim Wayne’s white business card on the table for all to see. Lois grabs it faster than Kon’s seen any non-Flash human move.

“Oh my God he gave you a white card,”

“I’ve never actually seen anyone get one,” Clark hovers over Lois’ shoulder, equally awed “thought it was a myth Gotham reporters made up,”

“Don’t be silly Clark,” Lois scoffs “Vicki Vale got one from Brucie,”

“Yes but they were dating, this is--” he shakes his head “I don’t know what the reason here is.”

“Well maybe he’s just taken a liking to Conner,” Ma suggests “I mean not every reason has to be so calculated.”

“Ma, this is Batman”

“No it’s his son, you all act like his children couldn’t possibly be any different from him but neither Jon nor Kon are your exact clones so you know that can’t be true.”

“Well,” Kon coughs “I mean I **_am_ ** a--”

“Oh shush Conner you know what I mean, you’re not your parents any more than Jon is,” she points at the card in Lois’ hands “and that young man isn’t his father.”

“You’re right Ma,” Clark not only looks admonished, he looks like he means it “Sorry, you were saying Conner?”

Kon tries his best to relay the night of the interview. The tensions, the awkward moments, the strange eagerness to welcome him into Gotham and to show him his family’s work. He talks about spying on them and the details of the dialogue between the Wayne children, and then their reactions to him at the gala. He leaves out the gossip the other reporters fed him, it’s a topic for another day. By the time he’s finished Lois is excitedly shaking Clark’s shoulder.

“Oh this is good,” she says “he’s playing the game, they **_never_ ** play the game.”

“What game?”

“He’s trying to be nice, he’s going out of his way to make you like Gotham. They never go out of their way for reporters, and definitely not one in any way related to superheroes. The ones not based in Gotham at least. He’s playing the game, and now? He can **_lose_ **.”

“Oh Lois not this again,” Clark laughs “I mean I suppose there’s some truth to it but do you really think they’d reveal their secrets any time soon?”

“Smallville, with the right Wayne and the right reporter, anything can happen.”

Kon clears his throat “So I guess that’s a yes from Lois on whether I should take Tim’s offer.”

“Are you crazy flyboy? Of course you take it, if for nothing else then you’ll see how **_he_ ** sees Gotham.”

“Siding with mom on this,” Jon nods “you’ve got nothing to lose, I mean he knows who you are **_and_ ** he’s offering to show you around as a civilian so dying under unnatural circumstances is unlikely.”

“Thank for thinking about the possible murder angle,” Kon replies dryly “but they don’t kill. He’d threaten me with a kryptonite ring at worst.”

Clark frowns “I hope they don’t all have those things,”

“I didn’t trace any of the Gazzo shipments to Gotham, but a few of the shipments weren’t recorded very well so I’d say it’s very possible they have more than one.”

“Well,” Clark sighs “possible Kryptonite stashes aside, I guess I’ll have to agree with Lois on this one too.”

“Don’t look so reluctant,” Lois slaps his shoulder “You know I’m right. I mean, what an opportunity.”

Kon exhales through his nose, “You’re right, I should say yes, but it’s kind of--”

“Terrifying?” Jon supplies, with a knowing grin “It doesn’t matter if you slip you know, it’s not like he doesn’t know.”

“He seems really bent on pretending he doesn’t though,” Kon bites the inside of his cheek “It puts me on edge having to figure out when he’s talking about his day job or his night one.”

“Why was he never like that when I interviewed him?” rather than annoyed, Lois seems to be genuinely contemplating the answer to this question “Did I not push the right buttons? Or not enough? Is it because Kon’s his age?”

“It’s probably a little bit of that,” Clark agrees “but I don’t think Kon’s the first reporter of his age group to interview him, he does do a lot of press.”

“Surprisingly, I may actually be the first, I guess most outlets sent their more experienced people to him thinking they’d be the best at getting him to talk.”

“When really they should have sent a handsome metahuman who looks about his age and is on the road to being successful at his job,” Jon grins with his mouth full “I mean, who could Tim Wayne possibly relate to more?”

“Jon dear, that’s impolite,” Ma frowns at the bits of food that’d flown out of Jon’s mouth and onto his place mat “but I agree, maybe he thinks Conner’s a kindred spirit,”

“And I’ll never be one,” Lois sighs “what a waste, maybe I can try with Cassandra,”

Kon clears his throat “But you agree? I should take him up on his offer? Even if it’s more than a one time thing?”

Lois shrugs “Well I say go crazy,”

“But not too crazy,” Clark adds quickly “avoid getting Batman involved.”

Kon nods “I’ll do my best,”

Lois leans her chair back to wink at him from behind Clark. Kon suppresses a snort.

“Do you think I should call him tonight or do I wait a little? Should I avoid looking eager?”

“Kon you’re a reporter, who are you fooling, of course you’re eager,” Lois hands the white card back to him “and so is he judging by this card,”

“I’ll call him after dinner then.”

“Why not now?” Jon suggests “Put him on speaker, we’ll be real quiet.”

“I like how you think baby boy,” Lois gives Jon a thumbs up, winking at him. Jon winks back.

“I’d hate to be nosy,” Clark says “but it might be good for everyone to hear how the conversation goes, maybe it’ll give us a better feel of his intentions.”

“Oh honestly,” Ma huffs “Let Conner do his job without all this hovering.”

“It’s ok Ma,” Kon quickly grabs his phone from his bag in the living room, in the next half of the second he’s back on his chair and adds “I want everyone’s advice anyway.”

He dials the number on the card on his phone. When he presses call and puts it on speaker, everyone looks at it as it lays screen up on the dinner table. It rings for what feels like several minutes. After the fifth ring there’s a click as someone picks up.

“Hello,” Tim Wayne sounds as if he’s glad to be speaking to whoever’s on the other line “am I expecting this call?”

Kon looks to Lois and Clark, feeling the panic crawl under his skin. Lois mouths _“Say yes,”_ and beside her Clark nods, his brow furrowing, eyes trained on Kon’s cellphone.

He bends down to speak into the phone, “Yes?” Lois shakes her head, probably at his tone “I mean, yes. This is Conner Kent.”

“Ah, Con,” his voice grows more jovial “good of you to call. Are you taking me up on my offer?”

“I am actually, how soon can you see me?” he flushes, clears his throat “I mean, how soon are you free?”

“Now that the gala’s over I’ve no fixed schedules for a while, any day is convenient. We could even start tomorrow if you like.”

“Oh,” that wasn’t a lot of time to prepare emotionally “Tomorrow’s fine, when should we meet?”

“I’ll pick you up for lunch, say 11am? Bruce asked to see us in the morning so it can’t be earlier,” he chuckles “it’s too bad really, I could have showed you an amazing breakfast buffet. There will be other days at least.”

“Right, that sounds good.”

“I’ll--” Tim’s interrupted by the sound of a woman’s voice saying his name “Oh, apologies. I need to be going, my sister is demanding I spend time with her, I’m afraid you caught us in the middle of a game.”

“Oh, sorry if I interrupted, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“11am sharp. Good night, Con,”

“Yeah, good night,” Tim hangs up a little before Kon does. He looks back and forth between the faces in the room “What did you guys think?”

“I could hear the sound of someone typing on a keyboard.” Clark says, “It was hard to tell if he was the one doing it.”

“And that lady,” Jon frowns “didn’t really sound like his sister.”

“I agree,” Clark nods “if I had to guess, normally I’d say he’s off being Red Robin but…”

“He couldn’t be,” Lois grins “maybe he’s faking the injury, or maybe he’s with the control center.”

A running theory of theirs that Kon tends to agree with, is that there is someone, or a group of someones, feeding the Bats information as they go around Gotham. It’s true of the Justice League, and of the Titans, and basically every organized group of superheroes, so there was every reason to believe it’s true of Gotham’s vigilantes.

“Well he **_was_ ** feeding Jason Todd info the night I spied. I didn’t hear anyone who sounds like that woman though. It definitely wasn’t Cassandra like he says it was. Reasonably sure it wasn’t Stephanie Brown either.”

“He knows you heard that right? The woman?”

“I don’t think any of them thinks it matters,” Kon shrugs “I mean, what **_does_ ** it matter if he isn’t actually with his sister. A lady’s voice and the sound of keyboards, he could be at work, or with a friend, it doesn’t really tell us anything. The only reason we think it does is because of certain background information we know because we wear the S.”

Clark’s mouth twitches “I see why you’re having a hard time, you don’t know what you’re catching onto because of reporter’s intuition, and what you’re catching onto because you’re Superboy.”

“And since you can’t conveniently have the Justice League corroborate your stories, it’s a line you actually have to find this time,” Lois bite her thumbnail “but you know what? I was right, he’s playing the game,” she grins “and here’s **_my_ ** reporter’s intuition: he wants something from you. Something other than Gotham written right.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something about that breakfast buffet talk,” she shrugs “can’t put my finger on it. You’ll have to figure it out yourself.”

Ma loudly clears her throat, and everyone jumps “Dinner is getting cold dears,”

Kon apologizes to Ma, and picks up his spoon.

  
  
  


 

-o-o-o-o-o-

  
  
  


 

Tim arrives at precisely the time he said he would. He calls Kon on his phone to tell him he’s waiting in the car in front of Kon’s building.

“I’ll be in the black Kia Stinger,” he says “it’s a recent purchase of mine, I doubt if any of the paparazzi know it’s my car yet.

It would have been apparent, even without Tim’s comments, which car is his. Though the black sedan is definitely less luxurious than the Aston Martin they’d previously ridden in, it has a shine that separates it from every other vehicle on the street.

Tim doesn’t roll down his window, instead he texts Kon to let himself in through the door on the side of the road. Kon walks around the car, when he pulls the door open he sees Tim with his leg raised over the back of the front passenger seat which had been folded and pushed down to a more reasonable height for resting his leg. He was wearing a seatbelt, the whole set up made him look vulnerable, though as he smiled up at Kon, like a prince welcoming him into his palatial abode, it was hard to believe he wasn’t in control and ever ready to pin him down onto the cold asphalt.

Alfred greets him good morning as he climbs into his seat. Kon greets him back, closing the door firmly shut. As he fastens his seatbelt, Tim asks about his weekend.

“I was mostly writing the article on the gala,” he admits.

Tim nods “Of course, of course,” he says absently “I haven’t read it myself but my dad seemed to enjoy it,”

Kon isn’t sure he should be glad about that, or if he can express apprehension, so he says nothing and tries to smile instead. He realizes then that Alfred hasn’t yet started the car.

“So I was thinking,” Tim angles his torso towards him, but he’s looking somewhere beyond Kon’s shoulder “would you like to see what people think we should be ashamed of, or what they think we should be proud of? I thought it’d be great to let you choose which one to visit first.”

Gotham’s source of shame could only be Arkham Asylum, Kon can’t think of much else they would refuse to talk about with outsiders. Even the former so called “Crime Alley” where Thomas and Martha Wayne died are now filled with new businesses and affordable apartment complexes run and built by local NGOs. No one would go as far as to claim that the streets are completely safe (cartels and the mafia are after all, still a problem) but Gotham is far from the circa 1990s image most Americans have of it in their heads. They were slowly scrubbing away the stains on their reputation, but one bloody mark remains ever stubborn.

As for what there is to be proud of, Kon has no idea. Not because he can’t think of any great places in Gotham, but because he can’t think of what Tim Wayne would put the highest value on. He highly doubts it’ll be any of his family’s organizations, even if he did think so, he wouldn’t put such vanity on display for the press.

“The one you’re ashamed of,” he says, feeling more prepared for that option “I’d rather go there earlier in the day,” he shrugs, self-deprecating “Sorry, paranoid small town country kid, I guess.”

“Great choice,” Tim beams at him. Alfred, who’d clearly been paying attention, pulls the car out of the parking space. “We should have lunch first, I know a great place in that area. Hopefully they’ll have a table.”

Kon looks down at his hoodie and jeans, then at Tim’s button down, khaki pants, and the stylish brown coat folded on his lap, “Am I dressed for that?”

“Of course you are,” Tim inspects his own outfit self-consciously “is this too dressy?”

“No!” Kon exclaims hurriedly “It’s just I’m wearing a slightly embarrassing shirt under this and I’m not sure even the Wayne name will get me into a swanky restaurant.”

Tim audibly smothers a laugh. He doesn’t ask, but he does throw a curious look at Kon’s hoodie.

They drive northward past a grid of modern business buildings, Tim gives general descriptions of any major landmarks he spots through his window, like the Kane Building and the “C” Building. They take a left somewhere and pass the Monolith Square where a large black stone looms over an array of shrubbery. When he sees the facade of the botanical gardens, and Alfred turns right, heading north once again, his suspicions are proven right.

The only thing that lies in this direction is suburbia, half of it reserved for government employees who every day, cross the heavily guarded bridge to head to work at either the Department of Corrections, the city jail, or Arkham Asylum.

The bridge is within sight when Alfred parks the car at what claims to be an Australian Steakhouse but looks more like a mom and pop diner. It’s sign “Al’s Corner” is in neon, though the ‘r’ looks like it no longer lights up. The name is immediately familiar to Kon, but he can’t place why. He has a vague sense of having seen it just recently.

Alfred helps Tim out of the car. He’s also dressed in a button down and khakis, Tim holds his arm though he doesn’t really look like he needs it.

“Eat with us Alfred,” Tim says, and though phrased like a command, it was very clearly a request.

“I will sit at a nearby table Master Tim,” he assures him “but I think it would be best if I left you and Master Conner to your conversations.”

“You can always join us anyway,” Tim looks like he knows very well that won’t happen.

Tim takes them to a table by the kitchen, and sits with his back to it. Kon sits across him, with a view of the busy rotating door of servers. It reminds him a little of-- Kon stills. And he **_remembers_ **.

Remembers a table like this from just a few days ago, and a list where the name “Al’s Corner” was bolded to say it was definitely, most definitely, owned by the Falcones.

 _“Oh you bastard,”_ he wants to say to Tim, and to himself for getting caught **_again_ **. A waitress gives them their menus and lingers, clearly recognizing the Wayne in the table. Kon smiles up at her and picks up the menu, his mind is on Tim and his choice of restaurant.

It could of course be a coincidence, Kon was the one who chose to go to Arkham, and this just happens to be one of the best, certainly one of the busiest restaurants in the area.  But he doubts it could be, not when there’s an entire row of establishments here they could be eating at, and not when they’re sitting at the approximate spot Kon had sat in, in the other Falcone owned restaurant.

“Their mac and cheese is good here,” Tim says conversationally, his eyes not meeting Kon’s “I’ve had it a few times myself.”

Kon sets his menu on the table “Guess I’ll be getting the Mac n’ Steak and an iced tea then,” he says, unabashedly examining Tim’s face now.

Tim eyes him and smiles, like he’s not plotting anything, like he’s not intentionally needling Kon about something he’s not supposed to know about. He calls a waitress and gives them their orders, Kon keeps his eyes on Tim.

After the waitress repeats their order for confirmation, Kon says, “Say, I’m new around the city,” she turns to him smiling brightly, but with an edge of nervousness “And I was just wondering who the Mr. Al in this fine establishment’s name is,”

“Oh,” she visibly relaxes, Kon wonders what she thought he’d say “Well Ms. Sheila says its the name of her ex-husband, but they’d been too established by the time of the divorce so she kept it.”

“Really,” he says, he can feel Tim watching him  “Thanks for indulging me,”

“No problem,” she says, before heading to the kitchen with their orders.

“You could have asked **_me_ ** you know,” Tim says, sounding amused. Kon can’t tell how sincere he is. His heartbeat reveals nothing as usual. It was difficult though, to read it as anything but a challenge. “See, what they won’t tell you is that Ms. Sheila was formerly Sheila Falcone.”

Kon can’t comprehend this, as if on autopilot, he plays along with the conversation “So that means that Al is…”

Tim pretends to tip a hat, “The very same.”

 _“Why?”_ repeats in Kon’s head in loop, he doesn’t understand this. More than just needling him for having gone to one Falcone restaurant, Tim Wayne is now telling him, in broad daylight, that ‘Al’s Corner’ is Alberto Falcone’s Corner.

“Dad doesn’t like us eating at Alberto’s restaurants, says we’re helping fund the mafia like this,” Tim speaks in a low voice, like he’s confiding in Kon “But the food is just too good to miss. He can be overprotective anyway, as long as I’m not here on Tuesday nights it’s fine.”

“What happens on Tuesday nights?”

There’s a gleam in Tim’s eyes, it doesn’t feel benign “They say he has meetings here, Alberto does, then he likes to go home with Sheila, or the waitresses think he he does. Sheila did seem blissed out the one Wednesday morning I ate breakfast here.”

Kon can’t believe he’s encouraging this blatant oversharing, but he wants this, all these things spilling from Tim’s mouth. “I thought they’d divorced,”

“That’s the most intriguing bit, Alberto got re-married soon after the divorce, but not even a month after he and Sheila started seeing each other again. He couldn’t get divorced again though, imagine the scandal.”

“How could the Falcone affairs be so public?” Kon doesn’t tone down his disbelief “Is this common knowledge in Gotham?”

“In some circles yes,” Tim doesn’t bat an eyelash “they happen to be my circles,”

He desperately wants to asks which circles he’s referring to, with clenched fists, he refrains. This line of conversation is bizarre, potentially incriminating. There can’t be many people who know Alberto Falcone is still sleeping with his ex-wife. These are risky things to admit to knowing. At best, he’d be seen as a rich boy with an unhealthy fascination with the mob, in direct conflict with his philanthropist persona. At worst, well, they’d find out he’s a vigilante.

Lois had been right, Tim is playing a game. Kon just needs to find out what the prize is.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to give notes on my choice of cars, all the cars in this story were chosen for specific reasons, but for now I'll leave it HAHA.
> 
> Also, when Tim or anyone else says "Con" it's deliberately spelled like that because it's how they think it's spelled, as short for "Conner". This may or may not be significant later.
> 
> I changed some chapter titles, by accident, the odd numbered chapters are named after Ancient Greece references and the even numbered ones are named after Tarot Cards. Maybe I should try and keep this up haha.
> 
> I thought the plot of this thing would go faster but I've resigned myself to a long slow moving story. I'm basically just writing what I want hahaha.
> 
> I don't know when I'll be able to update next, I have to put more energy into graduating and reviewing for the bar exams. But I am writing this always, little by little. See you all next time.


	7. Crito

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this done more than a week ago but I've taken to waiting longer before posting because I don't want to be as unhappy with a chapter as I was with 3 and 5 after posting. I've warmed up to 3 since rereading it but 5 is still a nightmare to me, still figuring out how to edit it till im satisfied... Well those are my own issues haha. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone still reading. This chapter deals with some issues and attempts to show solutions, I am aware they may be imperfect or naively idealistic. But I'm trying to think of what a bunch of do-gooders, not all of them born rich even, would do if they had the resources that they did and some of the things in this chapter (set up in previous ones) is what I came up with.

 

 

**KON**

  
  
  
  
  


Arkham Asylum sits in the far end of the Department of Corrections complex. Built just as the world transitioned to the twentieth century, it’s the oldest building on the lot. Its two towers, with their triangular gabled roofs, loom over the main three story building that lines the shores of the river that separates it from the beginnings of Gotham Heights’ Aparo Park. 

Before you even spy the facade of the asylum, past the guarded bridge leading away from the suburbs, is the brown office building of the department. It surrounds the shores facing the bridge like a fortress wall, and is free of the pseudo-European embellishments typical of Gotham architecture. It’s minimalist, clinical. Attached to it is one of the two jail buildings in the city, much smaller than its sister on Blackgate Isle, designed as a minimum security prison for those convicted of lesser crimes. It’s the newest of the three buildings in the complex, having been built only after more legislation on prisoner rights were passed in New Jersey in the recent decade.

At the entrance of the Department of Corrections, they’re ushered to a booth to fill in paper work. Kon has to give ID, and Tim does all the talking. He also fills in the papers while Kon stands uneasily behind him. After Tim’s dutifully written down the purpose of their visit, the man behind the desk lifts a plastic basket filled with cell phones marked with masking tape. He asks them to leave theirs with him before they proceed. Tim immediately brings his out, sliding it through the glass separating them and the man. Kon fishes his own phone out of his pocket, a bit more reluctantly, and places it carefully on the counter. Tim looks back at him as he slides the phone through the hole in the glass, Kon thinks he’s trying to reassure him.

A man and woman in uniform appear from down a hallway, and shake hands with Tim, looking harried. They exchange the same pleasantries with Kon but they both look at them funnily when Tim mentions he’s from the Planet. Tim calls the woman ‘Lieutenant’ and seems familiar with her. The man stands back, back rigid. A lower ranked officer, Kon guesses, and a little more wet behind the ears. He’s sweating profusely, tries to look at Tim but keeps looking away as if staring too long would be an insult. Kon hopes the Lieutenant doesn’t leave this guy to show them around.

She doesn’t, apparently finding it more prudent to guide Tim Wayne and his guest herself. She offers to get Tim a wheelchair, but Tim declines, saying he’s gotten very used to his crutches. Though she looks uncertain of that, the Lieutenant doesn’t push. She leads them down a hallway, out a heavy metal door and into a well manicured courtyard. It’s lined with evenly cut grass and trees arranged in two straight lines, between them, a wide gravel path leading to black gates, its uppermost arch spelling the words “Arkham Asylum”. It’s not what Kon imagined it to be. 

Like everyone else, his image of the area was formed through the 1995 documentary made right after the Joker’s first sentencing. Back then Arkham was the only small rocky island, the path leading up to its main gates a craggy decrepit road. Now a lot of state and city funds seems to have been put into its upkeep, even the gates look relatively new. Considering the way the Lieutenant is treating Tim, perhaps Wayne funds had a little to do with it too.

With their guides’ help, they make it through the guarded gates and to the steps of the asylum’s front entrance. A blonde pigtailed woman in a lab coat and a tight pencil skirt is waiting for them by the front doors, an uncomfortable looking security guard by her side. 

“Hey there cutie,” the blonde woman pulls Tim into a hug that he doesn’t return, but doesn’t resist. When she pulls away she asks “Here on a date? I wouldn’t recommend it hun, it’s asking for trouble.”

“Dr. Quinzel,” Tim regards her sternly “I’m here with Conner Kent from the Daily Planet,” 

Kon waves at Dr. Quinzel when she looks his way, at first wide-eyed, and then, leering. She holds out a hand for him to shake. Cautiously, Kon takes it.

“Wow they sure make ‘em different out there in Kansas huh,” she looks him up and down, like she’s admiring his physique. Kon knows what it’s like to get checked out though, and this doesn’t feel like that, “Nice to meet you Kent Jr., I’m Dr. Harleen Quinzel,” she winks “Haven’t met your dad but your mom’s always a riot.”

“She’d be glad to hear that,” Kon answers honestly “And it’s nice to meet you.”

“My pleasure pumpkin,” she smiles sweetly at him, but it comes off a little sly, especially when she turns it to Tim whose brow twitches when she asks “Now then Timmy, what can I do for ya?”

Tim slowly breathes in and out once, “I was thinking you could show us around, Conner here is writing something big about Gotham and I wanted to show him how Arkham is not what he thinks it is,”

Dr. Quinzel nods “Mhmm, I see, well you probably don’t want me to take him to the east wing huh, hun?”

“I don’t want to keep any secrets, if you’re up for it so am I,”

They commune silently for a moment, Tim looks grim and determined as Dr. Quinzel searches his eyes. Finally, she nods again.

“Well alright, it’s my job to be here you know, if anyone’s going to get uncomfortable there it’s you two,” she points a finger at Kon “You better get ready kid, a lot of those guys are nothin’ like your Metropolis baddies,” she pauses “well, maybe it’ll be like lookin’ at a bunch of drunk Luthors,”

Kon hopes they don’t notice the flinch he tamps down at hearing the name. He grinds his teeth and nods before saying, “I’m a reporter, it’s not my first rodeo,”

“There aren’t many rodeos like this pumpkin,”

Well, fair enough. 

Apparently Dr. Quinzel has already said her piece though. She asks them to follow her, the security guard trailing behind them as they make their way from the lobby to an elevator. Dr. Quinzel presses the button for the second floor, the interface looks a lot like the one at the Wayne Enterprises elevators. Kon wonders if they’d installed the same fingerprint detection feature.

“The first floor’s full of boring paperwork and data that I’m mostly not allowed to show either of you,” says Dr. Quinzel “Though if you wanna have a lil’ snack at my office we can do that after this is all done. Second floor’s where the uh, civilian patients are mostly, there’s some on the third floor with the patients transferred in from other states, but the east wing there is exclusively for high risk patients.” she squints at Kon “I’m not sure what you want to see here but I’ll walk you through the second floor and give you a run down of how we do things here. Then we’ll go see the headline makers.”

The second floor is painted in shades of light blue, impeccably clean, with the sterile smell of a hospital. There were different kinds of potted and hanging greenery that kept things from looking too plain, it made for a soothing atmosphere but for the most part it was hard to tell one end of the floor from the other without looking at the numbers on the rooms. 

Dr. Quinzel speaks excitedly about the daily routines of the second floor patients, how they make sure they have safely regulated social times and one-on-one therapy sessions with the asylum’s psychiatrists. There were cameras all over to make sure there’s no mistreatment and to more quickly pick up on ‘situations’. Kon’s not sure how asylums work really, it’s never been his line of research, but it feels like she’s leaving a lot out. Five minutes into the doctor’s spiel, he brings out his notepad to jot down things she’s saying that he wants to look into later. He can feel Tim eyeing him, blatantly trying to peek at his notes. Kon supposes he doesn’t need to hide his interest in this situation. 

Kon doesn’t know if he should be impressed yet. Certainly it’s not the hellish place people outside Gotham make it out to be, but there are misconceptions like that about asylums in general. He doesn’t know which of his biases this is overturning. He needs to do more research later. He needs to understand this system better. 

Dr. Quinzel doesn’t let them peek into the rooms of any of the patients on this floor to keep their privacy, Kon only catches a glimpse of them here and there. When they get back to the elevator to head to the third floor, two additional security guards have been called to shadow them. Tim and Dr. Quinzel seem unsurprised, so Kon guesses this is standard procedure. 

Immediately as they step off the elevator, Kon feels dizzy. It’s such a foreign sensation that he nearly stumbles. He’s felt this way maybe only once or twice in the past. He wonders if its nerves. He swallows, pushing back the nausea and forces himself to act normally.

“Nervous?” Tim speaks in a whisper but Kon hears it like a shout, he doesn’t manage to restrain his wince, but manages to stop his hand from coming up to his ear.

“I’m fine,” he says, and though Tim seems aware of the lie, he merely considers Kon before nodding.

Dr. Quinzel faces them at the cusp of the high security ward, and points her thumb in the direction of a sign on the wall. When Kon looks closer, its a list of room numbers and their occupants.

“I can’t let you see everyone, so you’ll have to chose now. We’ll be seeing them through one way mirrors, if you want to ask them questions, you have to file more paperwork.” 

Kon looks at the list carefully. He’s familiar with all of them, whatever research he lacked about the Asylum, he definitely had on its famous residents. There are a few conspicuously absent names: The Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn, who were released four years ago, ostensibly cured (or at least, able to manage life without crime outside the Asylum). Kon never did get their real names, though he supposes he can see why the Asylum protected their privacy.  

A few others were transferred to the Blackgate Penitentiary after reexamination, like the Penguin and Deadshot. Most however, have been here for the past ten years or longer.

“Having trouble choosing?” Tim asks. 

Kon shrugs, “I can’t talk to them, and I don’t really know who’d I’d be interested in  **_seeing_ ** .”

“Why don’t you scope out the ones you’d like to talk to in the future, I could give you recommendations on who’re the most significant to recent Gotham history if you like,”

Dr. Quinzel giggles, high pitched and out of place in the silence of the ward. Tim shoots a glare at her but she seems unbothered. 

“Who do you think I should see?” It wouldn’t hurt to hear his suggestions.

Tim looks pleased, “The Joker, obviously, Harvey Dent, and Julian Day,”

The first two were a given, but Kon doesn’t know who the hell Julian Day is. Dr. Quinzel reacts before he can.

“Day?” She grimaces “I mean, I guess he did almost wipe out the Falcones but he had a little help didn’t he?”

The Falcones again, “So Julian Day is Calendar Man? Why’s he listed as Calendar Man when Dent’s here by name?”

“Back when he got caught everyone knew his name,” Dr. Quinzel shrugs “These days his story’s more sensationalized with the kids, we gotta put up the names everyone knows so even rookie psychs know who they’re talking to,”

“You said he had help? I thought that was just a rumor,”

Her hand flies to her mouth “Oh whoopsie, guess you interlopers don’t know about that huh,”

“It’s on forums,” Tim heaves an artificial sigh “one of my friends still obsessed over it. Anyway, the point is, Gotham wouldn’t be what it is now if he hadn’t skewered the Falcones.”

“I’m not saying it’s not a solid top three,” Dr. Quinzel’s lips purse “But I don’t have to like it,”

“It’s not the sort of thing anyone has positive feelings about,” there’s an undercurrent to the statement that the two of them communicate with looks.

“You two seem close,” Kon observes aloud.

Tim’s face pinches and Dr. Quinzel bursts into laughter, “Oh honey don’t you recognize me? I’m all over the tabloids!”

Kon has no idea what she means, “You’re-- what?”

“I guess I don’t blame ya, I mean Selina’s always front and center in those things, I’m just the blonde canoodling with the redhead in the background,”

Kon wants to google her name immediately and regrets the absence of his phone. He can vaguely recall Selina Kyle being pictured stepping out with her friends but Dr. Quinzel was right to think he’d barely paid attention to anyone else. Heck, he usually just glossed over pictures of Selina living her life anyway, he isn’t an entertainment or gossip columnist.

“We’re getting distracted,” Tim says impatiently, and it occurs to Kon that he’s dropped quite a bit of his facade around Dr. Quinzel. He wonders how he could develop such a relationship with his future step-mom’s friend. It reminded Kon of his own relationship with Diana, who always managed to make him feel like he was back in a cave with Bart and Cassie, calling themselves  _ ‘Young Just Us’ _ .

“I’m completely fine with just seeing those three,” except for maybe Scarecrow and Mr.Freeze, he wasn’t particularly interested in any of the others anyway. Besides, if he really wanted to look, he would. 

“Well alright then,” Dr. Quinzel places her hand on the wall beneath the patients list and the image of the hallway before them suddenly shudders and dissolves to reveal a stretch of heavy metal doors. 

Kon does a quick scan with his x-ray vision and finds that the doors and walls are so thick even he would need a few punches before he could get in or out. He can see a big room in the far end containing someone who could only be Killer Croc. 

“We’ll be seeing Dent first,” she says stopping at the third door, she presses her palm against it’s center and a small perfectly square window opens. She gestures to it with her head “Go ahead, he won’t be able to see you.”

Cautiously, Kon peeks into the window. Dent’s profile looks serene, he’s sitting on his bed, back flush against the wall, his burns facing away from Kon. He’s reading a pocket book with great concentration. He seems comfortable, like he’s just on house arrest, relaxing at home. Kon watches silently as he flips a page, eyes eagerly devouring the words. There’s a bookshelf in the room, containing a decent number of paperbacks. Next to it is a small rack of clothes, all of them pajamas provided by the Asylum, save for the towel. There’s a table beside it with a plastic jug of water. In front of Dent, a sink and a toilet are partially covered by a shower curtain. It’s not an ideal living arrangement by any standards, but much cleaner and cozier than Kon would have expected.

He steps back from the door, and nods at Dr. Quinzel who then presses her thumbs against the bottom edges of the window which immediately slides shut.

“Next is….” Dr. Quinzel trails off, turns stiffly to the guard who’s been with them from the beginning, “Will you please Russell?”

The guard, Russell apparently, nods and walks to the centermost door in the area, presses his palm to it like the doctor did for Dent’s room. Once the window’s open Russell gives Kon a wary look but tells him he can look now.

This room is very different from the last. A bed sits in the center of it and on it, in a straightjacket, his face more wrinkled than Kon remembers, is the Joker. He’s gazing upwards, lips still stretched permanently into a smile. Tubes connect him to a machine that, Kon is mortified to note, seem to be accumulating his body’s waste, and there’s a small bedside table with a jug of water and a straw. Other than that the room is quite empty. 

“He hurt a lot of guards and psychs when we gave him stuff to do,” there’s a slight tremor in Dr. Quinzel’s voice “Over the years he just kept doing things until we just… had to resort to this.”

The Joker acting up in Arkham always managed to make it on the news, leaks are rarer since they tightened up the ranks a few years back but Kon’s read enough from way before to know what he’d done.

Kon looks away from the Joker to her, “Sometimes it’s too late to change someone,” he says, thinking of the skyscrapers of Metropolis, where Lex Luthor must be looking down on the people again, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

He moves to let Russell close the window as Dr. Quinzel walks ahead, just two doors down, and opens the window for the Calendar Man’s room.

“Oh Jesus,” she says, frown on her face as she steps aside to give room for Kon “Don’t be fooled hun, he can’t see or hear you, he just does this sometimes.”

With a bit of apprehension, he stands in front of the window. His heart jumps as his eyes seem to meet the Calendar Man’s gaze. He reminds himself of the doctor’s words and shakes it off. He forces himself to examine the rest of the room, which has largely the same amenities as Dent’s but marginally less books. Instead there are paintings hanging against the walls, some of them are just splashes of color and others resemble the plants in the second floor hallways. There’s an array of paints on the floor next to where the Calendar Man’s standing, and a large sketchbook over a clear sheet of plastic. Looking around again, the shower curtain’s pulled back and the sink’s colored with splotches of paint. 

The Calendar Man’s hands are dripping with it, but he doesn’t seem to mind what gets on his pajamas. He crouches down suddenly, returning to his unfinished painting. Kon stares at him for a little longer, but he doesn’t look back again.

“Why does he do that if he doesn’t know anyone’s there?” Kon asks Dr. Quinzel, as she shuts this last window.

“Oh he just likes bein’ terrifyin’,” she shrugs “When we took him to the showers once, he saw one of the psychs inspectin’ another room, ever since he found out about the windows he likes lookin’ where it is once in a while just in case someone’s watchin’, he’s harmless though for the most part. He thinks his work’s done.”

“Not interested in more crimes?”

“I’d tell you what I think, but I’m his shrink-in-charge now, so I can’t really say much without winding up in jail,” She flits a look to Kon’s side, where Tim Wayne has been silently regarding them both.

“I’m sure you have questions,” Tim says, as the guards escort them back out the hall. 

“Plenty,” Kon scratches one of his earlobes and keeps his hand there while giving Tim a sideways look “nothing a little research won’t solve, but I don’t suppose you have pull to get me interviews?”

Tim snorts “What do  **_you_ ** think Conner Kent?”

“I think you could get me an interview with the President,” Kon grins “And I think you really want me to believe that your program is working,”

“That’s why we’re here after all,” 

Dr. Quinzel looks on, clearly enjoying the conversation but more than happy to be a mere observer as she brings them back into the elevator. Two of the guards stay in the high security ward leaving them with just Russell.

Kon feels nauseous again as they near the central area of the floor, but he tamps it down, determined to have his say.

“New Jersey abolished the death penalty, it’s one of the twenty states where it’s illegal,” Tim lips are tugging up in amusement, he says nothing and only looks at Kon with anticipation “The thirty states where the death penalty’s legal like to point to Gotham as one of the prime examples of why it should exist, do you think if I talked to these men I’d be convinced that rehabilitation is the right answer?”

Tim’s got a full on smirk now, “You don’t believe people can change Mr. Kent?”

He shrugs “I may or I may not, but the article’s not going to be about me,” he beams at him, in the way he used to with Tana, feeling more bold and confident than he probably should be. “It’d be nice to talk with Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn, and I’d really like to talk to Two-Face.”

“And the Calendar Man? The Joker?”

“I’m not an idiot, I don’t want a meeting with the Joker, and something tells me I’ll have more luck talking to Alberto Falcone than the Calendar Man,”

Dr. Quinzel whistles, low and impressed, waggling her eyebrows at Tim, “Maybe he’ll be the one who finally gets the dirt on Bertie huh?”

Tim gives her a quelling look, “Dr. Quinzel...”

She raises her hands up in surrender, “I’m just sayin’ the cops and Vicky haven’t found anythin’ after all this time but pretty much everyone knows he’s guilty,”

Kon… isn’t following this conversation. It doesn’t seem like they’re talking about Alberto being guilty of mob activities, is this the stuff of forums they were talking about earlier? But they were talking about Holiday then, that would mean that --

“People think Al Falcone is Holiday?” 

“We don’t  **_think_ ** it,” Quinzel insists “we  **_know_ ** it.”

The elevator is silent for a tense moment, Russell looks incredibly uncomfortable while Tim is looking right at Kon, openly gauging his reactions.

When it tells them they’re on the first floor again, Kon finally asks “How do you  **_know_ ** ? I thought this was just forum fodder? Conspiracy theories?”

“Oh honey that’s just what the national media wants you to think,” she pats his back like she’s consoling him-- for being ignorant he guesses “Truth is they messed up because of some legal mumbo jumbo on the evidence,”

“Chain of custody,” Tim interjects “There were some questions about the integrity of the murder weapons since there was a period of time where they couldn’t account for where the weapons were,”

“Yikes,” Kon says with a hiss before he can stop himself “I mean-- that’s--”

Dr. Quinzel openly laughs at him, “Yikes is right! Bastard got acquitted, and used whatever power the Falcones had left not to end up here. Since then he’s been playin’ nice,”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Tim grunts, frowns.

She grins, devious “Dickie-boy blabbin’ about police work again?”

This time, Tim laughs “You know it.”

_ Christ _ , Kon doesn’t know what to do with any of this. Alberto Falcone is a serial killer who got off free on a technicality? Richard Grayson tells his brother classified information about police operations?  **_Why_ ** is he being told any of this? 

_ “What game are you playing Tim Wayne,”  _

“Why hasn’t the Gazette reported on this?” Kon’s certainly never heard of Al Falcone being Holiday outside of a rambling reddit post.

“Why indeed,” Tim replies unhelpfully, just as they arrive back at the Asylum’s front doors.

“I’d really like to invite you both to my office to keep chatting, but Joanie’s paging me,” she slumps, her lower lip jutting out “Duty calls and all that,”

“Thanks for today,” Tim says.

“You owe me cutie,” Quinzel winks at him “Russell will see you both out to the gates, I’ll page Lieutenant Carver to meet you there again,”

Kon holds out a hand to her, “I know it’s just cause Tim asked, but thanks for showing me around Dr. Quinzel,”

“Oh you’re welcome,” she giggles, shaking his hand, then she pulls him towards her with surprising strength and whispers in his ear, “please, call me Harley,”

She lets him go, and he nearly stumbles back. “Right,” he says “Thank you Harley.”

It’s a moment before his brain truly catches up with the information he’s just been given. Harley. Harley Quinzel. Harley Quinn.  _ Jesus Christ _ .

“I’ll be seein’ ya both!” she waves at them, sashaying back into the building looking thoroughly pleased with herself.

Kon gapes, unsure how to process what just happened and this information overload of a day.

“Lead the way Russell,” Tim says behind him. Kon turns in time to see them step down the front steps into the short stone path leading up to the gates.

Numbly, he follows.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**TIM**

  
  
  


 

Conner Kent stays in a daze until they reach the bridge, which was perfect considering Tim still had to put that bug into his cellphone. He’d tried earlier but missed in his haste to hide it from view. This time he’s able to slip one in easily enough before handing the phone back to Con. 

Most everything about today went according to plan, trust Harley to go off-script though and reveal her secret identity. Ah well, Conner already knows who he is anyway, let Harley out herself as she pleases.

They cross the bridge back to the suburbs in silence. Conner looks frustrated, restless. Good. That’s within expectations. He can test waters later if he’s made him sufficiently interested in investigating the Falcones. If he isn’t, well, a few more pushes in the right direction should do it.

“Holy shit,” Tim looks up to see a guy around his age clutching at his camera as he looks back and forth between him and Conner.

Interesting. The shock is that they’re together, not that Tim’s here.

Con looks confused, but markedly less agitated than he was on the walk here, “Kyle?”

“Hey. What are you doing walking out of Arkham Asylum with uh,” Kyle nervously glaces towards him, “ **_Tim Wayne_ ** .” 

Tim doesn’t hesitate to show his surprise at the complete lack of brain to mouth filter.

It seems to unnerve Conner as well since there’s some hesitation before he answers, “He uh, offered to show me around.”

Tim supposes the thing to do here is to ask for an introduction. “Care to introduce us Con?”

“Oh,” Conner gestures at the wide-eyed Kyle “this is uh, Kyle Sterling, we were in high school together.” 

Tim goes for a handshake, resting his weight on one crutch to hold a hand out. Kyle vigorously wipes his palm on his jeans before taking it. 

“What brings you to this side of town then Kyle?” Tim looks at his camera “Are you a reporter too?”

“God no,” Kyle runs his hand through his hair, avoiding both their gazes “no offense Conner.”

“None taken,” Con replies amiably, before addressing Tim “Kyle’s got a youtube channel about ghost hunting, he’s going around the spooky parts of Gotham,”

Something flickers through Kyle’s face, but it’s gone before Tim can analyze it. Suddenly Conner looks puzzled, he frowns at Kyle and cups his ear in what looks like an unconscious movement.

“I see,” Tim says slowly, then to Kyle “Were you about to go into Arkham then?”

“Uh, yeah,” he squeezes his camera tighter “I mean, you know the rumors right? Ghosts of patients who got mistreated here, even Amadeus Arkham himself.”

“I’ve heard of them yes,” Tim’s more surprised about the fact that he got permission to try and film those things. Then again maybe he didn’t, maybe he’s going to con his way into the Asylum. It isn’t Tim’s business either way. Arkham could handle itself.

“Yeah so uh,” Kyle smiles sheepishly “I gotta go, must be holding you guys up too,” 

Conner nods, “Nice running into you again,” 

“Uh yeah, you too,” Kyle nods back “Nice to meet you uh, Mr. Wayne.”

He scampers off before Tim can say  _ “Call me Tim” _ . He turns to Con with a raised eyebrow, but he doesn’t seem to notice, his fingers pressing at his ear and frowning in the direction Kyle had run off to.

Tim wonders if he’d heard something with his acute hearing, or if it’s a nervous habit for something else. Kyle Sterling had certainly seemed nervous. But was it old issues from their high school days or something new? Tim inwardly shakes himself, it’s none of his business, and unrelated to the matter at hand. He still has to sell Gotham’s good points to a Kent,  **_and_ ** get Superboy to spy on the Falcones.

“Shall we head to our next destination?” he pulls out his phone, already texting Alfred. 

Con startles, hand dropping from his ear, “Uh yeah,” he smiles shakily  “where to?”

Tim smiles back, all teeth “Somewhere nice,”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**KON**

  
  
  
  
  


It had crossed his mind earlier as a place that had improved a lot, but it still surprised Kon that the place Tim brings him to, the place Gotham has pride in, is the neighborhood of what was once Crime Alley. Now every street in  _ ‘Formerly Old Gotham’ _ is named after people who were considered instrumental to the renovation and elevation of the area. Mostly, they’re named after leaders who lived or still live within the community.

But there’s one notable exception, Crime Alley’s street was renamed in the memory of Thomas and Martha Wayne. The city had wanted to name it after Bruce, Tim said, as he’d been the one to push this project, had gotten everyone who made it happen involved. 

“But, classic dad, he wanted to name it after his parents instead,” Tim eyes twinkle at the memory, “We’re proud to say that homelessness reduced drastically in the city after the project was done. People were skeptical at first, but over the years they’ve begun voluntarily knocking on the doors of the Drake Home so we can help them find work and a new home. Some have been with us a while, but we don’t mind. Many leave once they’ve gotten their footing though, they’re hard working people.” 

Maybe it’s because he knows he has a captive audience in Kon and had been steadily oversharing since this day had started, but gone is the man who cautiously answered Kon’s questions for the gala interview. In his place, a starry eyed youth, filled with optimism and faith in his city. While it feels like this is a speech he’s used to making, it also feels private, like the last time he said this was to someone he deeply trusted. Now he’s telling Kon. 

He wants to let him keep talking, but the reporter in him has to ask: “Is it true that it’s brought down petty crimes too?” 

The GCPD wouldn’t shut up about it, there were debates about it on tv. Kon knows the statistics, but he wants to hear it from someone who lives here.

“It has,” Tim nods, looking bitter “but it hasn’t disappeared entirely, there are a lot of other factors at play,” 

Alfred takes them on a joy ride around the district, and Kon marvels at it. He remembers the Old Gotham and Crime Alley from documentaries-- people were sleeping on the streets, the buildings were falling apart, the narrator walked down the sidewalk claiming it stank of trash, urine and rotting cheese. It was a hotbed of crime, when the mafia was in its height of power, there had been whispers, even twenty years ago, of Bruce Wayne wanting to change the place, but everyone from Gotham’s City government to the very residents of Old Gotham violently opposed the idea. Some with literal violence. 

Now, a mere ten years since they city finally allowed the conglomerate of Gotham Heights families to rebuild the area, it had become bustling and prosperous. Small children are playing games on the sidewalk, their mothers or fathers gossiping on the steps leading up to an apartment building as they train their watchful eyes on them. There’s an array of small businesses all over the place, everything from groceries to small clinics which seem to be run by people who also live in the community. 

“People used to sneer at the renovation project as gentrification,” Tim says “I remember dad would rant about it,”

“I mean,” Kon tries not to sound too incredulous, “Wasn’t that what it was?”

“Yes,” Tim throws a frown his way “but we’d taken much of the residents to temporary shelters or rehab, kept close track of them. We resettled them straight after everything was done, it took some convincing before they went along with everything I admit,”

Kon raises an eyebrow. 

Tim rolls his eyes, “It took a  **_lot_ ** of convincing, maybe even a bit of the mayor employing police power,” then hurriedly he adds “I don’t mean that they used the police to round people up! I meant police power in the sense of Constitutional powers of the State.”

“I know,” Kon snorts “I read that they used the drug dens as an excuse to classify the whole of Old Gotham as ‘noxious property’, the riots after that were pretty famous even in Metropolis,”

Thinking about it again now, Tim must have been Robin during those riots. Kon can’t fathom a gangly non-meta teen being in the middle of all that, trained by Batman or not.

“Ha!” Tim shakes his head “Because every national news outlet wouldn’t stop talking about it?”

“That’s definitely a big part of it,” the riots happened so soon after the big gang war that there were talks about putting the entire city on quarantine. No real efforts were made to push through with that, but the idea had floated around the news enough for people to think that an attempt was made.

“Bruce’s staff told us the drug aspect would be problematic, it’s a divisive issue, we couldn’t openly lobby for decriminalization,”

“Why not? Couldn’t you afford to?”

Tim picks at a button on his shirt, frowning down at it “I’ve already said too much, I’d have to get into confidential W.E. board meetings to answer that,” 

Kon shrugs, “Fair enough,” 

He turns back to the view outside the car just in time to see Alfred taking a turn into  _ T.&M. Wayne Street _ . Kon feels his heart skip a beat as he looks up at the road sign, and then goes slack-jawed at the sight before him, Crime Alley, renovated to what it must have looked like in its glory days during the roaring twenties. Old timey diners and candy stores, jazz bars and speakeasies, and in the midst of it all, the theater. A poster of the 1920 Mark of Zorro movie starring Douglas Fairbanks Sr. is on display, as if emulating that fateful night.

Alfred parks in front of a cafe right next to the theater, shares a look with Tim through the rearview mirror. “We’re here sirs,” he says, whatever feelings he has about the place carefully masked.

“Is the theater really showing Zorro?” he asks Tim, as they unbuckle their seatbelts.

“No, we wouldn’t do that to the people running the place. They screen it once a year during the anniversary but, it’s a regular movie theater, all of these places are just what they look like,”

“Must bring in a really specific kind of tourist,” Kon mutters.

Tim and Alfred share rueful smiles “You have no idea, but it’s a monday afternoon so it’s not too busy right now, you should see this place on weekends,” here the smile turns apologetic “I wanted to avoid the crowd for now though,” he gestures to his crutch “you understand,”

“Of course,” 

He brings him, not into the theater but into the cafe. The interiors feel as much part of a period piece as its exteriors. The people in it aren’t stuck in time however, it’s filled with tourists and locals of all types enjoying a meal with a friend and gawking at the decor. Tim begins to tell him that the woman who runs the place is an immigrant from Haiti but is interrupted by the woman in question sweeping him off his feet in a hug. 

“How very nice to see you Timothy!” she exclaims joyfully, her accent thick. Tim returns her joy and enthusiasm with a roaring laugh. He’s grinning at her when she puts him down, as happy to see her as she is to see him.

“I’ve brought a friend Ms. Farah,” Tim says, turning back to Kon with that grin still on his face.

For a moment, Kon is speechless, his mouth has gone parched. Another side of Tim Wayne, revealed for him to see. A genuine and unselfconscious part of him that Kon has never seen in text or camera.

“A handsome friend,” Farah nods approvingly, she squeezes Kon’s biceps “And strong! A good man to have around,”

He can feel himself flush at the words, warmth filling his face. “Thank you,” he says, unable to think of any other response.

“Conner Kent I’d like you to meet Ms. Farah,” Tim puts his free arm around her waist “She’s the ‘F’ in F. Baptiste Street, one of the first residents here in Formerly Old Gotham,” he looks up at her, still smiling, “She’s kind of a big deal,”

Farah shields her mouth from Tim’s view with her hand cupping her mouth in a backwards C, and then stage whispers, “He likes to make fun of me,”

“I’m not making fun of you!” 

She tuts in reply, smiling, then turns her gaze at Kon “It’s nice to meet you Conner. Come sit, I will get you a menu, and for Timothy--”

“The usual,”

“Yes, yes,” she waves him off and strolls back behind the counter to talk to the kitchens. One of her waitresses brings Kon a menu and he ends up ordering a latte and a cheese steak sandwich. 

Tim’s usual turns out to be a caesar salad with tomato soup and lemonade. Farah brings it herself, and Tim asks her to sit with them. 

“We want to chat,” he says “Conner here you see, he’s a reporter, and his boss wants him to write about Gotham,”

“What about Gotham?”

“All of it,” Farah’s eyebrows fly up, and Tim smirks “I know, it sounds impossible,”

“We must help him then,” she says this with so much resolve Kon finds himself touched. 

“Precisely my thoughts,” Tim blows on a spoonful of soup, his eyes meeting Kon’s for a brief moment.

Farah pats Kon’s hand on the table, gazing directly into his eyes, earnest “I will do my best to answer your questions,”

It was hard to know where he should even begin. Because, the truth is, he wants to know everything. How she met Tim, how they got so close, how she got a street named after her and a cafe next to a place of almost sacred importance to Gotham city. He wants every detail, needs it. 

He brings out his recorder and points at it with a smile, “Can I record?”

Farah eyes it thoughtfully before nodding, “That is fine,”

Kon presses the red button to record, and takes a deep breath.

“I’d like to know your story,”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

**TIM**

  
  
  


 

They leave Farah’s place in good spirits, and Tim has the feeling that Con will be back here on his own to see her again and to explore Formerly Old Gotham on foot. Farah hugs Tim as they leave and pulls Con into a similarly tight embrace that he returns easily. 

It’s early evening when they drive out to downtown Gotham. People are just beginning to get out of the office, slowly joining the teenagers who’ve been lingering after school. Beside him, Con is reviewing his notes, biting his lower lip in concentration. He doesn’t notice that they’ve taken the long way round to his apartment.

Tim waits. Alfred knows which route to take. When they finally reach Red Robin territory, the car slows just enough to take in the sights better, but not slow enough that they’ll have people honking behind them. 

“The Falcones own three restaurants on this street,” he says, as offhanded and nonchalant as he can manage.

Con’s head lifts from his notebook, throwing Tim a confused look.

“When I was a kid my parents, my biological parents, never went to this part of Gotham,” he keeps his gaze outside the car window “They were afraid of ‘The Roman’, most people were really,”

“And they’re not afraid of Alberto?”

His chest swells in triumph, but he carefully doesn’t let it show on his face “Not nearly as much, they think he’s a lion declawed,” 

He can see, reflected on the window, that Kon leans closer to him, eyes boring into the back of his head. He asks, “And you think otherwise?” though it’s clear he’s well aware of the answer.

“I do,” Tim turns too meet his gaze “even without claws lions have their teeth, I think Alberto’s been biding his time. My older brother, you know Richard of course, he’s warned us about it. Told me to get a feel of whether he’s re-infiltrated high society.”

Con is thoughtful for a moment, “What are the police doing to stop him from getting power back?”

“I wish I knew,” he picks dirt off his pants, making it look like an absent-minded gesture “I understand it’s classified information,”

“Do you think--” Con stops, looks briefly uncomfortable before he seems to steel himself, “Do you think Batman knows about it?”

Tim had suspected B might get brought up this evening, the way he’s been talking about the mob, but still, he’s impressed that Conner would do so. This was low on the list of his possible answers, but he’s glad it’s what’s come up. It makes things easier.

“I couldn’t possibly guess what Batman knows and doesn’t, but Dick did complain about how a lot of the evidence is missing from the scene of one of his cases, a sure sign of the vigilantes usually,”

Alarmed, Con asks, “They hide evidence!?”

“Oh no, not usually, I hear it’s only--” he shakes his head “Oh I shouldn’t say, it’s all just theories anyway. I do know what else was stolen though, a shipment meant for one of Falcone’s restaurants, the manager complained to me about it the other day you see,”

A bald-faced lie, one Con could probably disprove if he tried hard enough. He suspects he won’t though, so it’s a risk Tim’s willing to take.

“Jesus,” Kon raises a fist to his mouth “so all those people…” he trails off, looking distressed.

“Do you know something?” he pushes himself closer to Con, close enough for him to clearly see the electric blue of his eyes in the dimming car.

Con looks down at him wide-eyed, mouth parted slightly, taken aback by Tim in his space. “I’ve been uh, looking into the shooting,”

He backs away, and Con blinks, eyes following him. Tim takes the moment of silence to re-assess. Fact: Conner Kent knows that there was a shoot out at Dixon Docks. Theory: He knew to look into it because of Tim’s injuries and the eye-witness sightings of the Batmobile leaving the scene. Unknowns: Whether he knows that Jason was also at the scene, and whether it was his research into the shoot out or his night of spying that led him to the Falcone restaurant.

If he’s interested in the shoot out, it can only be to their advantage.

“I don’t think it’s been in the papers,” Tim decides it’s best to try a for a bit of hostility “I trust you know you shouldn’t be publishing anything about it yet?”

Con clears his throat, “I don’t want to get in the way of the investigation, so no, not yet,”

“Good,” Tim nods trying to sound satisfied and wary at once “you may have to wait for a while though, the Falcones are notoriously paranoid, more so now,” he sighs, maybe a bit too dramatically-- whatever, he has to commit now “And since the GCPD loathes to take our donations unless the city forces them to, their listening devices and covert intelligence gathering methods have been, how do you say this, inadequate.”

“And in the meantime, more of these shoot outs could happen,” Con clasps his knee in a tight grip, he looks down at it, frustrated, before lifting his head up. He has a look of determination on his face that tells Tim he’s made a decision. He hopes it’s the right one.

The car lurches to a stop breaking up the conversation with the rough movement. Tim meets Alfred’s eyes on the rear view mirror. It was probably intentional.

“We have arrived sirs,” Alfred deadpans “at Master Conner’s building,”

“Wow,” he looks at Tim, and grins “Time flies huh?” he unbuckles his seatbelt, maintaining eye contact “Thanks for an amazing day.”

“Right,” the abrupt change in his mood is disconcerting, but not totally unwelcome, “I’d be glad to do something like it again, there’s a lot to see, people to meet,”

“I’ll take you up on that,” he opens his door, still grinning at Tim as he climbs out “Thanks for driving us Alfred, I hope you weren’t bored,”

“Not at all,” Alfred replies, sounding charmed to Tim’s ears “Have a good night Master Conner,”

“You too,” says Con “Bye Tim,”

Tim raises a hand in a tiny wave before Con shuts the door entirely. He watches him jog up the steps of his building before telling Alfred to take them back to the manor.

They manage around five minutes of silence before Alfred says, “Rather dangerous, this game you’re playing Master Tim,”

“I probably won’t die,” he says, to avoid answering seriously.

The pause that follows is heavy with judgement. Tim just smiles as if unperturbed.

“I do hope you know what you’re doing,” Alfred says finally “and I also hope you know that if by chance this escalates beyond what I believe you can manage, Master Bruce will be made aware,”

“Conner’s harmless Alfred,” he shrugs “as harmless as a reporter could be I suppose, but still,”

“Perhaps, but the Justice League is another matter,”

“I’ll be careful,” Tim leans forward to pat Alfred’s shoulder once “I’m working with Babs and Jason, we’re thinking it through,”

“Reassuring as that is,” he does not sound reassured “my silence on this matter remains conditional,”

“Noted,” Tim nods stiffly, then, more softly “Thanks for worrying Alfred,”

“I always do Master Tim,” he sighs, tired, exasperated “and I always will,”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't know when I'll update, I write fast when inspiration strikes (like with this chapter) but sometimes churning out a chapter is a painful process lol. Anyway. This chapter actually got the plot moving quite a bit, I wonder if anyone's guessed where I'm going with this haha. 
> 
> Thank you again to everyone still reading I appreciate you all so very much.


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